Back From The Grave
by spellmugwump97
Summary: Exactly eleven years after the war, a blue light glows over the carefully rebuilt Wizarding World. What it means will shake it from it's very foundations.
1. Prologue

**Back From The Grave**

Prologue

* * *

The people who lived in Godric's Hollow were generally very happy, in the quaint, little village.

They strolled arm in arm with their partners in the crisp Spring months, wore light clothing in the sunny summers, crunched the leaves underfoot in the Autumns, and wrapped up warm in the winters.

There was one little lonely lane, however, that they avoided.

Only one family ever walked down it, and it was for that fact that the family were always the main subject for gossip in the sleepy little village. Another, of course, was the fact that the mother and father, with their three children, and sometimes one other little boy, of whom a teenager who had been dared to run down the road swore blind that his hair was a bright, vivacious purple. But that was nonsense, obviously. Anyone with eyes could see that his hair was a nice, normal, sandy brown.

The family kept to themselves, mostly. They politely declined any subtle hints for invitations to their house from their far off neighbours, - the other villagers were so curious to see their house, due to the fact that no one actually knew where it was.

Their children, too, were home schooled, and so it was that any budding gossips that had a few children of the same age to spare became thoroughly disappointed when the oldest boy of the family's children did not attend the little village school in the September.

The villagers avoided the lane, because of the horror tales that they had been fed since they were young children.

As the story said, a young man and woman had lived there, once, with their little boy. They seemed perfectly happy; as any young family should be, and the older people of whom resided in Godric's Hollow had always said that they were nice enough to talk to.

But, then, the story went that on Halloween, - the date was probably twisted, it just seemed far too convenient - a fire had broken out, and the mother and father had perished, leaving their little boy an orphan.

The facts from the older people were a little hazy, after that. None of them could seem to recall what had happened next. It was assumed, of course, that they little boy had been taken away to stay in the care of some of his other relatives, but nobody was certain. One old lady was certain that she had seen a literal giant of a man take the young boy away; but everyone on the village knew that her mind was slightly addled, anyway.

The house remained abandoned; crumbling and decaying, - but nobody seemed to notice, to really care at all about the decrepit state of the building. The normally house proud but warm people of the village did not utter even a single word about the state of the building.

After that, the story dived and diverted into fiction, as fact was long since abandoned after the older people's memories failed them. One of the favourites was that a huge snake had come, and eaten up the little old woman who lived in the small cottage nearest to the haunted house, because she had seen the man who had started the fire in the first place go and commit his deadly deed. The children often came home, worrying about the demon snake coming to gobble them up, but their parents assured them, as they were falling asleep at night, that there could never be such a thing as a giant, possessed snake, and the children fell asleep, reassured that their dreams would not be filled to the brim with troublesome ghouls, or demonic reptiles.

However, perhaps the most favourite tale, liked by adults and children alike, was the tale of how the mysterious family's father, that had come to live in the village a few years ago with his wife and children, was really the little boy who's parents had perished in the fire. The older people had indeed said that the couple bore a rather striking resemblance to the pair that had died, after all, but then, these memories could have just been a figment of their imaginations; the facts in all of their heads were slightly jammed and fuzzy.

The children adopted a more gruesome approach; the man was the little boy, but he was not here to live - oh no. He was here to seek revenge for his parents, and he was really part of a secret organisation, who tracked down murderers and villains alike, and kidnapped them. Then again, there could be some truth in the allegations about his profession; nobody saw him go to work, or return from it.

The people of the village very much doubted that the young family had enough money to simply live; it was very difficult raising a family without much money, after all. They had also presumed that the mother did not work; surely raising three children and home schooling them was a fulltime occupation. But yet, the rumours still remained strong and unyielding throughout the five years that the family had lived in the village.

And so it was, that young William, a boy of ten years old, was slowly edging his way towards the rotting gate of the haunted house, jumping at every creak, eyes widening comically at the single rustle of leaves.

'Go on Will! Just touch it!'

He turned his head anxiously, and saw four other boys in the distance, shouting for him to hurry.

Gulping loudly and edging towards the ominous gate, he took another step, slowly positioning his foot as if he were walking on a very live, very scary mine field.

He reached his hand out, slowly reaching towards the moss covered gate, almost waiting for some demon to come and grab his arm and kidnap him.

Closing his eyes briefly, William took a deep breath, and grimaced slightly, almost disbelieving about what he was about to do, in denial, he screwed up his courage, and forced himself to propel his shaking arm towards the mossy gate.

And then, he jumped back in shock, ignoring the pleas of his awaiting friends that it was beginning to rain. William did not seem to notice the heavy droplets of rain cascading down his back.

For a signpost, _a signpost_ had just materialized from the ground; springing up like some absurd flower, frightening William so badly that he could not even run from the scene, he was so frozen, so very petrified on the spot.

He did not even have time to read what the sign said, as he suddenly caught something in the very corner of his eye.

A faint blue light blue shimmered, and then he saw a figure, wearing some sort of costume that William's little sister would probably dress up in, it was a tall man with messy black hair, with black, round, wire-rimmed glasses, with a petite woman with dark red hair lying by his side. They were slumped over on the ground, silent and unmoving, until the man twitched his head slightly and groaned, and the woman opened her eyes to reveal bright green eyes.

William widened his eyes, and it was suddenly apparent that he was seeing some sort of ghostly apparition in the haunted house.

William did the only thing that he could think of doing, frozen to the spot, dripping wet in the rain and impending gloom and darkness of the sleepy village.

He turned and ran, not noticing the very strange fact that he almost seemed to be lifting off of the ground in his wild hurry.

* * *

Dennis hurried through the Department of Mysteries, already anxious about the fact that he was late home.

It was his son's first birthday, his wife would skin him alive if he did not make this date. Or worse.

And so it was that he hurried through the department, once again cursing both his job and head of department for making him stay so late. Why did he have to choose this kind of job, anyway? It was certainly not natural for him to keep all of his secrets locked up within himself - but then, he supposed, he did have his wife to spill everything to, as did every Unspeakable have a single person under an oath that they could discuss everything to do with their job.

Honestly, though, the career path of an Auror was a much better approach.

_At least they went home on time_, Dennis grumbled under his breath, as he hurried through a door that had a very faint, cross shape burned into it.

The wrong door.

Groaning as he turned around to see the entrance room spinning and disfiguring itself, Dennis resigned himself to have a little look around the room that he was now trapped in, undoubtedly for the next five minutes or so, pushing his wife's torturing methods to the back of his mind for a little while.

He turned around, but froze as soon as he had.

_He was not meant to be in here._

_So_ not meant to be in here.

Dennis was standing, facing an old an decrepit archway, in a room that was very dark and gloomy, and seemed to give off an auror of depressing gloom.

He muttered under his breath, anxiously fumbling for his wand in an inside pocket of his robes. He pulled it out, swiftly as he could, and muttered the "point me" spell, enabling himself to navigate his way out of the maze that people tended to call the Department of Mysteries. How ironic.

Turning around, his cloak whipping behind him in his haste, Dennis followed the secretive co-ordinates that only the people in his department know, and he was just about to close the door firmly shut, before he could have _sworn_ he saw a bluish haze emit from around the ominous arch, before it vanished in a blink of the eye.

Turning around suspiciously, Dennis stared at the previously glowing arch for a full two minutes, before deciding, finally, that it must have just been a trick of the mind and eye, and shut the door hurriedly in his bid to get to his home before his wife had the time to build up enough steam for a full on rant.

He completely missed the dark haired man that toppled out of the arch, now glowing an even brighter, vivacious blue, groaning and muttering a few choice swear words.

* * *

Eva and Daniel hurried out from behind the tapestry, giggling and whispering to themselves as they surreptitiously looked around the corridor to check that nobody was coming.

'Look, there's no one here,' Daniel grinned at Eva, and started to try and gather her up into another embrace and kiss her once more behind the tapestry.

'Daniel! I've got to … go …' Eva said, smiling, before pushing away an exasperated Daniel.

'Really.' She said firmly, gathering him into a warm hug that he warmly accepted.

'Harry Potter's coming to my Defence lesson!' Eva said, the sudden realisation gripping her, making her go rigid in her boyfriend's arms.

'Really?' Daniel said in shock, his arms dropping from his still girlfriend.

'_Yes_!' Eva checked her watch quickly, - but not before twisting it around her wrist to the right way again - 'It's starting in _five minutes_!'

She stumbled out of her boyfriends arms, shooting him a sorrowful look as she began walking briskly back through the tapestry of Arnold the Annoying.

'I'll tell you all about it!' She stepped forwards, as did Daniel, and she kissed him quickly on the cheek.

Eva went to hug him once again, but Daniel forced her away from himself and further into the little secret passageway.

'Go!' He said, urgently, as Eva grinned back at him, 'You'd better tell me about it, though.'

Rolling her eyes exasperatedly, she flounced of hurriedly through the little passage way, not looking behind her once more in her hurry.

Daniel grinned, and turned the other way, striding down the corridor with a knowing grin plastered on his face and fixing his blue and silver tie straight as he made his way down to Ancient Runes.

Neither of them noticed the glowing blue light that they had left, just moments before in their wake, nor the two people that followed it, falling to the solid stone ground of the hall with a very audible thump.

The woman tilted her pink head slightly to look, bleary eyed around her, whilst the man beside her in tattered clothing simply just groaned.

* * *

Minerva walked briskly through the grounds of the castle that she herself had taught at for so many years. Grass whipped at her long, dark red robes, and birds chirruped loudly in the trees that were dotted around the beautiful, - if very, very cold - crisp and sunny Scottish landscape.

She paused, however, looking across the water at the other side of the great dark depths that was the Black Lake.

What would it have been like, she wondered forlornly, if Albus had survived? Her eyes travelled across the brilliant waters and their cool depths, stopping for a few seconds in amusement at the giant squid, which was happily swimming about aimlessly, before finally moving over the waters a little more and resting on the marble, seemingly glowing tomb on the opposite bank of the lake.

It was a glimmering speck, really, from where she was standing, but she could still see that day so very clearly in her minds eye; the Mermaids, Hagrid carrying him, - déjà vu from the final battle, there - the sobbing people, the solid face of one Harry Potter, of whom was there that night …

He was up in the castle, Minerva had just thought. Probably teaching alongside with her Defence Against The Dark Arts professor.

Minerva had begged Harry to stay and teach, but she knew, indeed, in her heart and gut and the pit of her stomach, that he would never, _never_ be contented with just sitting around. Though, that clearly _was_ a misconception about teaching. A very large one.

She snorted, out loud.

It was not very womanly; but she was alone out here anyway.

Deciding that it was about time for an early lunch, Minerva began the trek back up to the grand castle, not noticing the faint blue light that glowed for across the black lake glimmer, and then fade away.

The white speck of glistening marble shifted slightly, and, from across the lake from where Minerva was looking in the complete opposite direction, it was impossible to see a man with a white beard emerge from the marble tomb.

* * *

'Now you leave me alone!' Maggie shouted, waving her fist at the youths laughing and sprinting away from her little run down council house.

They were constantly hanging around the little alley beside her home, drinking, and it would not, perhaps, bother her so much, if it was not for the fact that they were so very loud, and threw their empty cans and bottles, and little stubs of cigarettes and who knew what else over her garden wall.

Grumbling and entering her cosy little home once more, she paused for a moment, on her bid to go and make some hot cocoa for herself, to warm herself up from the bitter cold that had somehow decided to thrash London, to think about her George.

It was a shame, she thought, that he had passed away. She was not sure, at the time, whether she would even be able to get along without him, but with regular visits from her children and grandchildren, she had somehow managed it. It was a shame, though, how her youngest grandchild, Megan, was always away at that boarding school up in Scotland. Maggie would have like to have seen of her more.

It had been much easier to cope with destructive youth when George had been around; he had never withered like many did at their age, he had remained just as muscular as the day that they had met. George had chased away all of the youths; and he had made her feel safer.

Shaking her head, and willing herself not to linger on such depressing and oppressive thoughts, Maggie bustled her way into her small, but stuffed with food for her children and grandchildren for the coming Sunday for the weekly Sunday Roast, and reached high into an old and weathered, but much loved little wooden cabinet that George had carved himself, and brought out the small glass jar with various childish drawings etched all over it, bearing the names of all of Maggie's offspring, and their children, too.

Smiling fondly, Maggie heated up her kettle, and began getting the milk out of the small fridge just by her knee's, her bones creaking wearily as she leant over to retrieve it.

Maggie Harper carried on with her evening, and just when she had sat down to watch a bit of television before retiring to her bed for the night, hot mug of cocoa in her left hand and a small plate of savoury biscuits in her right, a faint blue light echoed around the room through the window that looked into the dismal little alley beside her house, but Maggie just simply presumed that the blue light was derived from the television set, of which had just turned on, that very moment.

Maggie had no idea that a man with grisly hair and plenty of scars, along with a fake leg had just landed in that very alley that she had looked into for so many years of her life.

* * *

Alex was on a mission.

He _was_ going to find out where the Ravenclaw common room was, and he was going to prove Luke _completely_ wrong.

His Ravenclaw friend from childhood had dared Alex to find the Ravenclaw common room, and there was no way that Alex was going to back down on _this_ one.

Shuffling along the corridor, Alex looked around hurriedly, and stopped for a moment. He was a Gryffindor, after all. He _could_, and he _would_ do this. He would never live it down if he did not; Luke would lord it over him for all of eternity.

And so, with no small amount of determination, Alex strode purposefully down the deserted seventh floor corridor, in the complete opposite direction of the Ravenclaw common room, though he did not know it.

He, Alex, did not notice the slight flash of pale blue light as he rounded to corner off of the corridor.

Nor did he notice the two bodies land on the floor, one with a bright red head of hair, the other with a sandy blonde colour of hair.

* * *

Fleur looked on in exasperation as Louis came traipsing into the hallway, treading in sand and mud alike.

'Louis!' She said hands folded over her breast as she looked down at her silver haired son. Louis looked up in apparent shame; it was clear that he knew what he had done, what his offence was.

'I'm sorry, Maman.' Fleur insisted on her children's use of her own native tongue; she refused for them to be embarrassed when they went to her own family's functions in France. Fleur had always dreamed for he children to call her "Maman", when she was younger, and just because she now lived in England and her children were half English, half French, was certainly _not_ going to change that.

''ow many times, 'ave I told you, Louis? _Use ze door mat_!'

'I'm really, really sorry, Maman!' Louis said in earnest, looked down to his mother as she prised, grimacing, the soaking and disgustingly dirty shoes off of his feet, and then shaking them onto the indoor mat beside them. 'Because I was just down at the sea, with Vic and Dom, and then, I kicked my shoe off by accident, all the way into the garden -'

Ah. That would explain the rancid socks, then. Why were they down at the sea? Bill. Fleur would have to talk to him about letting the children run amok, on a windy, sopping wet and cold beach in this sort of weather. The children would all come down with colds, and _she_ was not going to be the one getting up in the middle of the night to tend to them.

'Louis, 'ow did your shoe get to ze garden? Eet is far too far.'

But, Louis apparently found this small detail unimportant, as his mother peeled off one dry, one wet sock off of his cold feet, he shrugged, and carried on with his tale excitedly.

'And then, Maman, listen to this! And then, I went to go and find my shoe, and it was behind a _grave_, Maman. Why do we have a grave of Dibby -'

Fleur stopped tending to her son's feet, and her head shot so fast upright that she almost banged, and collided with her son's chin.

'_Dobby_.' She breathed, ignoring Louis' excited shouts of; "That was it, Maman! Dobby! Why is it there? Who put it there? Is it haunted? Maman, _why_ ..."

She had, to her shame, scarcely thought about the little grave of the equally little elf, with the disproportionally big heart, that resided in her very own garden. That rested, she both presumed and remembered, with everything, all of the memories, to do with the war.

'_Who_ is Dobby, Maman?' Louis said, with a bright, childlike curiosity.

Fleur paused for a moment, and looked into her son's eyes. He was only five. He was much, much too young to comprehend war, and all that it entailed. But, Fleur could not leave him hanging. Merlin knew, he would get nightmares from knowing that there was a _grave_ in his garden. He would probably get enough, considering his probable coming cold ... Fleur paused, and then began.

'A long time ago, Louis, your Oncle 'Arry and Ron, and your Tante 'Ermione came to our 'ouse, weeth some of zeir friends. Copains, oui?'

'But, where was I?' Louis asked, in confusion. It was such a childlike thing, for Louis to assume that everything had only started existing after his birth. Fleur gave him a watery smile weakly, and then continued.

'You were not even born yet, Louis.'

'_Really_?' Louis said, in amazement.

'Oui.' Fleur replied, looking on in amusement at her son's expression of absolute wonder.

'And zey came, mais zey were ...' Fleur stopped, thinking of the best, most _child friendly_ way to say it, ''urt. Quite badly.'

'But you fixed them up all right, didn't you, Maman!' Louis said, bouncing from his place on the counter of which Fleur had placed him, whilst she absent mindedly told the story and put the kettle on for boil with a tap of her wand. She looked out of the window to see Victoire and Dominique admiring the wild flowers that grew just outside of the garden gate.

'Oui, Louis, oui. But, zen, one of zeir friends was so badly 'urt, that 'e ... went to where Polly went to.'

Polly, their former pet rabbit, had died a few months before, and Fleur and Bill had to explain, painstakingly, where she had gone. "Death" was now referred to as "Where Polly Went", in Shell Cottage.

'Oh.' Louis breathed, looking down. After a minute of comfortable, but subdued silence, he looked up, back to his mother, and Fleur saw that he had prepared himself, steeled himself, was ready for what was to come next in the story. Fleur frowned, and wondered why she was doing this, before continuing on.

'Now, Oncle 'Arry was veery sad about zis, as the friend of 'is 'o 'ad died 'ad been 'is friend for many years.'

Fleur paused, to gather her thoughts, and then continued.

'So, Oncle 'Arry started to dig a grave in ze garden, weeth no magic, and 'e did eet because 'uzzerwise, 'is friend would not 'ave 'ad a veery good ... resting place, and 'Arry thought zat eet was a tres belle place to be buried.'

The kettle went off with a whir and Fleur tipped the hot, boiling water into five separate mugs, along with tea, coffee, and hot chocolate.

'So, Uncle Harry's friend ... was Dobby?' Louis completed, looking back, rather meekly at his mother.

At his mother's nod, Louis smiled, and hopped down off of the counter.

'Now,' Fleur said, patting her son fondly and tenderly on the head, 'go and tell your seester's zat zeir 'ot chocolate eez ready.'

With a cheeky grin, Louis took off, running after his sister's at breakneck speed, only pausing a few seconds to shove on his Wellington boot's before hurtling outside.

'Don't forget ze mat!' Fleur shouted after him, although she was fairly certain that h did not, or did not care of bother to hear her calling.

With one weary last smile at the little grave of Dobby, Fleur turned her back on the garden, and the view behind her out of the window, and took a sip of her black coffee.

As she half listened to her children having an argument, once again, over the apparent "blue light" that they had seen in the garden, she watched a snowy white owl soar in the air outside the opposite window from the one of which she was facing, not even noticing, or caring, just how abnormal it was for that sort of owl, and at that sort of time, in that sort of place, was to be there.

It just seemed right.

* * *

**- Erm, yeah. Fourth story on the go. GCSE's coming up. Woo! This may take a while to be next updated, but, bear in mind that I am doing my GCSE's at the moment, along with three other stories too. I just had to let this one out, though. I couldn't hold it in! The plot bunnies took me hostage, honest, I swear. Anyway, on the brighter side, two of my other stories are very nearly completed, only a couple left to go on both of them.. *sob*. They're like my babies!  
****Anyway.. much love to review and reviewers, as well as subscribers, and most definitely readers. You're amazingly brilliant!**

**- SpellMugwump97**


	2. Teaching And Tribulations

**CHAPTER 1**

_Teaching and Tribulations_

* * *

Harry watched, with no small amount of amusement, as Professor Lowry let his seventh year students into the classroom.

The man was a rigid one, straight talking, and he could be considered fairly rude to some, but in the presence of Harry, the man seemed to lose his demeanour completely.

Harry did not encourage it. He spoke normally to him, they were going to be teaching a lesson together after all, and graciously ignored all of the professor's bumbling accidents and abashed looks.

And, so it was, that Harry was standing by the teachers desk at the front of the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom, a position of which Harry was entirely unfamiliar, and found it very strange.

The seventeen year olds filed into the classroom meekly, an act of which Harry was almost entirely certain was abnormal for them, as Lowry was looking distinctly pleased.

They were looking around, anxiously, and it took Harry a moment before he realised that they were whispering and whipping their heads around the room wildly about one thing; him.

He still found it strange, and tiresome. He just wanted to have a life of normality in which to raise his son's a daughter. Harry did not like to use the word "normal", however. It reminded his too much and too inexplicably of the Dursley's, and he _certainly_ did not want to think of them anymore than he had to.

Harry smiled fondly at the thought of his children. Lily, in particular, had just taken her first steps, and Harry was incredibly thankful that he was there to see them. The same could not be said for either of James or Albus, and it was at times when Harry reminisced on what he had missed of his children's early lives that Harry sometimes second guessed being an Auror.

But, then he contented himself that it was probably the only job that he would ever be contented in, knowing that if he were to be doing anything else as a job, he would not enjoy it nearly as much as bringing peace to the world.

Besides, Harry thought, the crime rates certainly had gone down since he had become Head Auror after Robards had retired, casually wishing his replacement, Harry Potter, well at the end of year Ministry ball that Harry had been forced to attend, - now, of course, he knew why.

Even after two years as the acting Head of Department, Harry still had to get Gawain Robards back for that.

Realising the fact that his mind had wandered, Harry switched his gaze back to the class, and was startled to see that most of the students were gawking at him and his forehead, despite Lowry talking about the Unforgivable Curses.

Harry tuned in to what Lowry was saying, thinking that he would probably come up in the speech at some point. Harry was not proved mistaken.

'Now, as we all know, there are three Unforgivable Curses,' Lowry said, face flushed, 'the Imperious, the Cruciatus, and the Killing Curses. And, we are incredibly luck, that the only one to have survived all three of them is right here with us today!'

Ah. There Harry was.

'Now, as many of you know from last lesson, this is probably the only opportunity to ask Mr Potter here some questions, and I'm sure that Mr Potter,' Lowry paused and looked over towards Harry half expectantly, half worriedly. Harry nodded in reply to the anxious man, and Lowry went back to finishing off his lecture with a new kind of renewed enthusiasm.

'would be more than willing to answer any questions that you may well have on the subject.' Lowry sat back on a chair that he had positioned himself that was just on the very edge of the strange sort of stage that all of the professors had in their various classrooms, and taught on.

There was a moments pause, but it was long enough to decipher that the teenagers in front of him were not going to raise their hands for a question, or shout one out to Harry. Taking slight control of the situation, Harry smiled slightly, and said, with a grin,

'I don't bite, you know.'

The tension and apprehension seemed to have been diffused, and a couple of the students gave nervous little laughs, whilst some of the braver ones raised a fairly hesitant hand.

Gesturing his hand slightly, Harry smiled genially at the Ravenclaw girl, who was nervously twiddling her tie around her fingers.

'Annie Lockerwood.' She said, looking at Harry in a stalker like, enraptured fashion.

'How many times did you face Voldemort?'

It never ceased to please Harry that finally, _finally_, people were beginning to say the name. It was mostly due to the younger generation's putting the older to shame, and it generally had a knock on, domino effect from there on in.

Still, it never stopped making Harry pleased, that message finally sinking in. _Voldemort was gone, and he was never going to come back. _Of course, it was understandable that people were hesitant to believe that he, Voldemort, really was gone. They had only just begun to believe that he was back the second time before he had held all in an iron grip of terror. And, the first time, when they had all thought that the monster was _finally_ gone for good, he had come back again.

The fact that Lord Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You Know Who, Tom Riddle, was finally gone, for good, was a fact so very good and unreal to most people, that many had a hard time even believing it, even if they had seen the lifeless body before it was incinerated, so that it was impossible to be used for dark purposes.

'Seven times.'

An outpouring of whispers, and then a small moment of silence, until a more forward boy at the back of the room, of whom Harry could not see his house colours, shouted out,

'When?'

Sighing, Harry complied with answering the question.

'Once when I was one, then eleven and twelve, then fourteen, fifteen, and then twice in the final battle when I was seventeen. Your age.'

All of the students looked shocked, and some, absolutely terrified at the thought of some people fighting in a war, at their age.

Silence reigned, and then another boy at the back of the classroom shouted out, and Harry could not tell what house he was in, but could tell that he was sitting right next to the other boy that had shouted out.

'Have you ever cast an Unforgivable?'

The students looked around, at the questioner, and seemed to be looking at the boy in disgust.

People started talking together, creating a crescendo of noise, and then Lowry stood up, looking quite furious.

'Barnley! You should not ask such -'

'Yes.' The classroom turned silent, as Harry spoke. They looked at him in absolute shock, Lowry had to sit down on his chair in apparent surprise.

Harry knew what they would presume. They would all have presumed that he, Harry Potter, had won the war cleanly, and completely on the right and light side of the war. They, of course was wrong, except from the law part. Harry was pretty certain that the law stated that all of the Unforgivable's had, in fact, been made forgivable. Though, thinking back, that may have just been for the Death Eaters at the time.

Suddenly, through the thick silence, a small voice, Harry was not sure whether it was naturally small, or simply the oppressive silence pushing down upon them, spoke.

'Why?'

Harry quirked his lips slightly, and said, in a mysterious tone that would have made Albus Dumbledore a mixture of both proud and miffed;

'Desperate times call for desperate measures.'

All in the room seemed to be mulling over what they had learned. It was apparent, that it was not the answer that they were all expecting, especially not professor Lowry, who was slumped in his chair, looking forwards in a sort of daze, with misty eyes, a shocked expression on his face.

A long pause echoed around the room, until one person, a girl, in Gryffindor accented robes, said, in an awkward tone;

'How are your children?'

All burst into laughter at the attempt to diffuse the tension in the room, and Harry chuckled under his breath, before speaking once more to the students, all of whom looked considerably more happy, now that the mood had been lightened and lifted.

'Fine. Just fine. Lily's just learned how to walk.'

The girls in the room all turned to mush as they cooed and "aww"ed, and the boys sniggered as they did so. Harry was amused to see that many of the boys were then whacked none to softly on their arms, or clipped around the ear or on the back of their heads for laughing at the girls' displays of emotion.

'Sir?' Said a quieter boy from the very corner of the classroom, his face creased up behind his fierce mop of sandy, light brown hair. Without waiting for Harry to answer, the unknown boy continued.

'How did - how _did_ you defeat Voldemort?'

A hushed silence enveloped the room. Had any other student in the class asked that question, Harry would have avoided the actual answer by a quick remark; "With a wand." immediately sprung to his mind.

However, this boy reminded him far, _far_ too much of the deceased Colin Creevey. The boy's robes were black with Scarlet, and so it was clear, that, although his fairly weak outside portrayed a weak inside, Harry knew better than to judge a book by it's cover, so to speak.

Harry surveyed to expectant and eager face of the students before him, the very same age as he was, when he had fought in the final battle, the Battle of Hogwarts, and finally defeated Lord Voldemort.

But then, they really were not the same age as Harry, at all.

'Love.' Harry said simply, about to continue. 'When -' Harry could not finish his sentence.

The door came billowing into the room with an almighty crash, and a small, First or Second year girl almost tripped into the classroom, her face red from what it seemed, exertion or adrenaline, dark brown hair whipping all over her face.

'Professor Lowry, sir! Professor -' The girl said, placing her hands ruggedly onto her knees and leaning forwards, trying to heave back air, in a most unladylike pose.

'What is it, Harper?' Lowry said, now looking like the teacher that Harry would presume, and rightly so, was stiff backed and fairly intimidating when he wanted to be, and much of the time for the First and Second years.

This man really did seem to be a Jekyll and Hyde character, Harry thought amusedly, as he watched Lowry try to extract any sort of intelligible words from the young girls' heaving body.

'What is it, girl?'

'People - come … out of nowhere -'

'Who? Who appeared?'

'Dunno. Professor McGonagall -'

'Yes, what about the Headmistress, Harper?'

'Said to get - you, and - Mr Potter.'

'Anything else, anything at all?'

'Second floor - Angus the … uneasy,'

Nodding, Lowry released his hand from the young girls trembling shoulder, as she collapsed against the doorframe, the very same doorframe that Harry had just sprinted out of.

Intruder's in Hogwarts, _Intruders_ in _Hogwarts_ … the unforgiving and hateful mantra repeated over and over again as Harry sprinted around the corner that led to the tapestry of Angus the uneasy. It was just around the corner …

Harry drew around the corner, swinging by the tips of his finger around the sharp bend as he dug his fingers and finger nails into the equally unforgiving, equal to the fierce mantra repeated in his own head, berating him.

He looked at the people that were standing there, and almost fainted.

Lupin.

Tonks.

Fred.

Colin.

Dumbledore.

* * *

**- Woah. It appears that I am in official Ninja mode at the moment, with this fic. Through the night, may I add. Phew. Enjoy! Read/review/subscribe.**

**This is dedicated to the lovely and wonderful Liz, of Page-394-Always1, who has been brilliant to talk to for both advice, ideas, and company. She is an excellent writer, too, and I can only hope that I too can reach that level. I hope that I have been as enjoyable, informative and lovely to talk to as you have been for me. I recommend that you all read her fic; 'Gone'. Though just starting, it is amazing.**

**- SpellMugwump97**

**kgryfferinclawpuff98- **Thank you! Next chapter up:)

**inusgirllovesmonkeys- **Thanks! Yeah, I worked on Fleur's accent for a bit. I have to imagine her talking, and then see how to write it down.. it get's even more confusing when I get mixed up with other accents! Here it is, I hope you enjoyed:)

**Mrh99- **Here it is. Thank you, I did try to make it as intrugiing as possible:)

**READINGhearts17- **Ahaa, thanks!

**kiwifan13- **Thanks, here it is! Or, there it was..


	3. Confusions

**CHAPTER TWO**

_Confusions_

* * *

For one thundering, apprehensive moment, Harry could have sworn that he had finally gone mental. Around the bend. Insane. Loopy.

He was seeing _dead_ people. Not the transparent ghosts that meandered through the walls of the old school that Harry was now in, not the poltergeist that bounced around trying to confuse first years and trip people up constantly.

They were _dead_ people. But, they were _alive_.

It made no sense. Harry's mind was reeling, and his body reeled too, as he teetered dangerously backwards, almost descending onto the harsh stone flagged floor that layered the floor.

He balanced himself, however, gripping onto the wall even more harshly than he had before when he had swung around it, so hard that he could feel the tiny little pin-pricks of blood blossom on his fingertips as they dug in even harder into the cool stone, that was quite jagged and lumpy from years of being swung on, and, it was most probable that a few small gouges had come from duels in the corridors inbetween classrooms and lessons.

However, it was equally as likely that the large gouges that ha been stripped from the wall were from the Battle, years ago, but not so long ago at all.

'Harry.'

It was McGonagall. She was gripping his arm with a surprising amount of harsh strength for a woman of her fairly elderly age; though Harry would never dare, or dream to tell her that. Not to her face, anyway.

Harry looked up into her eyes, and saw that she was looking at him with a sort of fierce, fiery concern. It was evident that she, like Harry would be when his head had finally gotten a grip on the fact that he was seeing people dressed up, quite well, he would later grudgingly admit, when he did not know the full, _entire_ truth, as the loved ones that he had lost eleven years ago.

Anger overthrew Harry. How _dare _they. How _dare_ they penetrate the walls of this castle, the very walls that he and so many others had tried to hard to make habitable, to make it go back to what it had used to be, and now was once again; a thriving school, a beautiful place to learn and enjoy.

How _dare_ they come here, and imitate the people that he had loved so dearly, still loved, that he had mourned for, for years, as he never seemed to have time for at the time of their deaths.

They, these impostors, were clearly Death Eaters. Plain and simple. It was as clear, and stark, and _obvious_ as the fact that Harry was certain that the sun was going to rise tomorrow morning, and set tomorrow evening, in the East and the West.

Harry could feel his limbs shaking in anger, and he could feel his face contort into a foul, angry shape, one that did seem to make him the Head Auror, the one that he knew very well, and it usually appeared on missions, or interrogating suspects.

And, if he was honest with himself, he never _had_ had a suspect deny him an answer, and that was without Veritaserum.

'Harry, no!' McGonagall shouted, as Harry tried to raise his wand and aim it so perfectly at the head of the impostor closest to him. It was the one who was imitating Fred, looking the part, looking as if he really _had_ come back from the dead, looking like Fred did the day that he, that all of the victims of that Battle had the day that they had died; scared out of their wits.

Well, at least Harry was making his point, and Ron would love him for it later, when Harry whether informed him, or Ron found out through the very vivacious and not generally trustworthy rumour mill of the Auror Department.

For a bunch of the cleverest and most talented witches and wizards in the entire Ministry, and probably the country, too, they really could be the most entertaining, with, some of them, the least amount of common sense when it came to everyday things. Tonks had been the perfect representation of that as she had always been incredibly clumsy, but Aurors took care of their own. No other department would spread rumours about an Auror without them turning up for work one day and being stuck to their chair.

Ah. There appeared to be a fake Tonks, too. They, whoever they really were, were next.

'Harry, only one of them has a wand.' McGonagall whispered to him, watching the impostor's out of the corner of her eye. She probably did not have to, it did not appear that there was any need for it. They were watching the two of them as closely as Harry was to them, perhaps even more so.

They seemed to be whispering amongst themselves, despite Harry's definite looks, or glares, more like, towards them, for them to kindly _shut up_.

Harry stood up straighter, as before he had been slightly hunched over, leaning slightly against the wall that was, until very recently, was his only source of support.

He was just about to say something to the people imitating the dead, raising his wand as an extra precaution, or was it just natural instinct that commandeered him to do that? It was ingrained in him, and it was only simply highlighted by all of his extensive Auror training, when professor Lowry came panting around the corner, very nearly careening into Harry, and stopping short at the sight of all of the imitator's.

'What - is that _Dumbledore_?' Lowry's eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of his skull and roll towards the feet of all of the people assembled.

'No.' Harry growled, before anybody else could say anything. McGonagall looked as if she would have liked so say something different, but Harry had no idea what it was, and with all due respect to the old professor, he did not really care to find out.

'But … why … ?' The Defence Against The Dark Art's professor's sentence petered off, as his flushed face from either sprinting so hard and fast in one short blast f energy and adrenaline, or from being in the presence of some many famous names, and faces.

'Wait,' Lowry said, looking at the other people, who were standing behind the pretending Dumbledore, of who's wand was raised high, aiming doubtfully at both Harry and McGonagall, and now at Lowry too, though he seemed oblivious to it.

It was evidently clear to Harry that Dumbledore did not want to strike; he did not have anything near the fire that he did have previously in his eyes when Sirius had … died.

And, in the back of his mind, a small glimmer of hope, a slither of dream's come reality turned into a fully fledged, fully functioning thought.

Could, possibly, these people be the real deal? Could they be who they appeared to be? Harry's mind went back to the old Muggle saying; "Never look a gift horse in the mouth." Should he not look too much into it? Could Sirius be back? Could … his parents?

No. Harry was getting his hopes higher and higher. He was the one person of whom that did not need to happen. He was happy, now; a wife, three children, a brilliant Godson, who was in this school now, come to think of it … Harry had to visit him somewhere near the kitchens at some point today, that was roughly where the Hufflepuff common room was, anyway …

No. Harry had decided. He did _not_ believe these foul, loathsome impostors. After all, did Dumbledore not say to Harry, what seemed a long, long time ago, it seemed, when many people that Harry had looked up to were actually _alive_, that no spell could reawaken the dead?

But did that mean potion, too?

_No._ No, no, no, no, _no_.

Harry wanted to desperately believe the truth, the apparent matter at hand. But he could not, and he never could. People returning from the dead was an absurd thought, unrealistic, and the sort of stuff that dreams, the happy ones, at least, were made out of. And, besides. When did Harry get what he so desperately craved? Never.

Harry was _going_ to find out who these people were, and what the _hell_ they thought that they were doing here.

McGonagall was carting off a considerably confused professor Lowry, back to his classroom, and students, and Harry could just hear his voice saying, in an angry voice;

'- that _was_ George Weasley! It _was_! Owner of that joke shop - I should know, I've had to confiscate their products a fair few times! And what about that woman with the pink hair? I would bet my life on the fact that she was Nymphy - Nymphadora Lupin! I would! And - what about that other man, next to her? _And_ that other teenager -'

But Harry hardly cared.

He tuned the protesting voice of Lowry back, and the gently soothing, but firm voice, and probably grip, of McGonagall, and focused his attention entirely on the five people that looked considerably petrified of the situation.

The Dumbledore look-alike looked almost weary, but Harry had no time to think about that. He wanted answers, and _now_. Before he hexed and cursed them to pieces, anyway.

'How did you do it?' Harry's tone was fierce, and notwithstanding, aggressively to the point. All of them looked at least a little apprehensive, and the Fred and Colin pretenders looked very shaken. Harry grinned secretly inside of his head.

'Harry -' the fake Dumbledore said, taking a small step closer towards Harry, his wand still gripped tightly in his withered old hand, that was, Harry noticed, no longer black and dead looking. The Death Eaters, fakers, whoever they were, clearly did not pay attention to the facts. Idiots.

'Don't come any closer!' Harry shouted, taking an identical step backwards to the one that the Dumbledore pretender had taken forwards, closer towards Harry.

'Harry, you _must_ listen to us, it is essential that you hear all of the facts before you act -'

'What is there to listen to?' Harry shouted, his voice slowly rising in pitch and anger. 'You're pretending to be _dead_ people! You're not going to fool _anyone_!'

Harry could feel his face scrunched up in anger, or was it trying to keep any emotions at bay, to keep ay signs of weakness at bay, to shield them, to hide them from the impostors?

'Harry, I assure you, there is a perfectly reasonable explanation -'

'What is there to explain? You're impostors! You're _Death Eaters_! You've come here - eleven bloody years after the war -'

Harry saw the fake people suck in a huge amount of air, and it threw him a little. They were clearly very good at this, this whole acting and deception on disguise thing. But that did not mean that Harry was not too.

Harry was about to speak once more, about to continue his rant onto what he thought of the scum that were these foul, evil, loathsome, _deluded_ people, before he heard another voice speak from behind him, but it was not the ever growing older voice of McGonagall, it was the voice of a young boy, that was clearly terrified of the whole amount of proceedings.

'Uncle Harry?'

Teddy. That was one thing that Harry seriously wanted to avoid. It was bad enough him and McGonagall, and Lowry seeing these people, apparently back from the dead, back from their very graves, but for Teddy, _Teddy_ to see his long dead parents standing here, looking for all the world as if they were back again; _alive_ and _breathing …_

Harry had no idea how _he_, a young boy of eleven would react to see his parents in the flesh, impostors or not. He had seen them in the Mirror of Erised, of course, he thought with a slight lump in his throat, and that had been hard enough. Teddy would be heartbroken when he found out that these people were not his parents, were not anything close to them, but only fakers, pretenders, trying to harm and ruin everything, everything about the peaceful and stable environment and society and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Kingsley had all worked so hard on to make work and be happy again, as well as the rest of the entire Wizarding World.

'What - what are you doing here, Teddy?' Harry's voice was strangled, and he knew that he sounded strained; he felt it, especially as he watched, with almost real intensity, as the fake Remus Lupin held back his tearful fake wife, who was trying, struggling weakly to get the boy who was, apparently, her son.

It was all a lie, though.

'I -' Teddy gulped audibly, coming to bedside Harry. Harry hastily moved so that Teddy was partially behind him; the last thing he wanted was for Teddy to get hurt in this fight, emotionally or physically. Teddy was eyeing the impostor's in front of them with wary eyes, and Harry was once again irrevocably proud of his Godson's show of maturity.

Teddy's eyes almost popped out of his skull, however, when he saw who, apparently, on appearances, were standing in front of them.

Harry, once again, wondered where McGonagall was, and where she had gotten to. Harry needed another wand on his side, especially one as skilled as McGonagall's, as any person who was able to penetrate the nearly infallible walls of Hogwarts castle was bound to be at the very, very least, slightly more talented than the ordinary wizard.

Also, there was the fact that Harry highly doubted that only one of them possessed their wand. What type of Death Eater simply forgot to bring a wand? None that Harry had ever seen, or heard of. Even Crabbe and Goyle, junior or senior, were no that thick, or stupid.

'I got out of Charms. I - I needed the toilet.' Teddy looked guilty, looking down at his feet, that were shuffling slightly on the cold, stone floor.

Harry looked sideways at his Godson, still keeping a very close eye on the intruders', and keeping his wand trained very firmly, on not so much the other four, but mainly on the Dumbledore impersonator.

'You were looking for me, weren't you?' Harry let a small smile slip through his angry mask, to show Teddy that he really did not mind, and that it was not him, Tedd, that he was angry at.

Teddy looked as if he was about to say something, probably some sort of apology, judging by the give away colour of his hear, a dull, mousy brown sort of colour. It was not his natural, though Teddy did not show his natural dark eyes and sandy coloured hair to anybody much, it made him feel far too secure, far too _normal_, but Teddy's hair colour shifted when his emotions overruled him, when his emotions waged, his hair colour changed of it's own accord, Teddy's own emotions controlling his Metamorphagus abilities inherited from his mother. Teddy's telltale sign, much to his distaste as this usually happened when he was caught doing something or other that he should not be doing, was his hair to turn to a dull, mousy brown colour, not too much unlike Tonks' had been when she had been depressed whilst Harry was sixteen and in his Sixth Year.

Harry interrupted Teddy before the small First Year could even begin.

'Teddy, I want you to go to the Owlery, and send a letter to Ron and Hermione. Tell them to get here as soon as possible, and drop everything. Tell them it's from me.'

Harry's tone was solid and firm, but it was clear that Teddy's never ending capacity of curiosity and trying to find things out seemed to get the better of him.

'But - but, Uncle Harry, aren't those my -'

'No. No, they're not.' Teddy looked at him, looking hurt and confused at the same time. Harry hated speaking to Teddy like this, all emotionless and restrained, but he head to, it was a matter of the utmost urgency.

'Please Ted, the letter.' With one last doubtful glance towards his Godfather, and then the people watching, the intruders, Teddy began jogging off, around a corner, and into a new corridor, in search of the Owlery, to alert Ron and Hermione for Harry, whilst he kept watch over these … _Death Eaters_.

Harry hoped they would come soon, as well as McGonagall, too.

He wanted answers, and soon.

* * *

**- Wow. Thank you for that amazing response! I stayed up, and still am, (:S) very late to get this up. Phew. Review/Subscribe/Favorite!  
SHOULD THOSE WITH THE DARK MARK RETURN TOO? IF SO, HOW SHOULD THEY DO IT?**

**- SpellMugwump97**

**READINGhearts17- **Ta daa! Here it is. I hope you enjoyed!

**kgryfferinclawpuff98- **Thank you:) Argh, I knew I'd forgotten something in there! How could I forget Teddy? He's one of my favourite characters! There's lots in this though, I hope you enjoy:)

**kiwifan13- **Partial reactions here. Harry clearly doesn't believe it though! More reactions next chapter, along with Veritaserum:) Definately! Hope you liked! I'm afraid that the updates will slow down:/ I've just completed my mock exams, and the real ones are in a month. ARGH!

**Mrh99- **Yeah, ideally I would like to do longer chapters, but I don't want to cram too much in.. as the storyline progresses, the chapter will most definately get longer. I'm just trying to pace myself, really, and make sure I do everything properley. Thank you, it's a pleasure!

**jmarrero16- **I'm still undecided. The orgional plan was to only bring back those that do not have the Dark Mark, meaning no Snape, or Regulus. Another thing they are forced to sarcifice. I have been contemplating bringing them back too, but I am still undecided as to the "how's". Any ideas would be welcome, and would certainly help sway me to bring back Snape and Regulus too. Hope you enjoy!

**page-394-always1- **Thank you Liz! Thanks so much for that massive chunk of review-goodness! It was lovely to read:') Films? Wow. I like your thinking, Batman;D That, funnily enough, is how I write, though. It seems more productive, to me. I just visulise the scene, and then write it down! Yeah, I've always wondered that too, I mean, they would notice a house wreck, wouldn't they? Did you see how each of the people in the Prologue have some relation to the magical world? The girl in the second chapter that comes running in's Surname is 'Harper', and 'Maggie Harper', in the Prologue..? No? Meh. I like doing and reading or seeing things like that;D Moving on from there, Maggie is partially based on myGreatgrandmother, subconciously, I think. I only just realsied it now, actually. I think she must have been so strong, and everyone loves her, that knew her. She died when my mum was sixteen, but I still sort of miss her, if you know what I mean:'( She were a propa Cockney tho, innit? HA. Anyway, yeah. Maggie's great, but isn't going to be in the story anymore:( Maybe just in passing.. I LOVE SIRIUS! I tried really hard on Fleur's accent, I still think there's some small mistakes though, but I reckon that it's close enough. I had to visualise it and.. ugh. Basically, I worked really, _really_ hard on it. Glad you liked it:) Cheers! I always think that. I thought it would be fun to write, but as I don't like writing Graphic stuff like that, that's what I ended up with. Pleased you liked it! I always thought of Harry as an Auror, for the reasons stated in that chapter. But, I do think that he would have missed out on some stuff, like family, children.. he would second guess it. My dad is a Detective, so I sort of know how my dad feels about it sometimes, and sort of based it on that, and a bit of my own feelings.. at least my dad's not doing Night Shifts anymore, now he at least has socially acceptable working hours! Yeah! I know what you mean:) Ahaa, I love professor Lowry, enough said. His name is take from a famous painter and artist that I did about in Year Six, funnily enough. Huh. Ha, He tries to keep his cool, but just loses it, bless him:') MASSIVE VIRTUAL HUGS AND THANK YOU'S TO YOU TOO! I was pleased to dedicate that chapter to you, it was the very least I can do:) Favorites? Already? I love you. Enough said.. Jess:)

**AshKnightPotterite- **Rhyming name? Me like;D More here! Don't know about the next update, I'm never even sure myself. Hopefully it'll be soon, I hate leaving people hanging! Hope you enjoy!

**flamingharp- **Cramp? YES. HELL YES. And I stayed up late, to finish it off, on a SCHOOL NIGHT. It's five to twelve. Midnight. I need sleep. *yawn*. It was worth it, just review and I shall know you appreciate my efforts! I hate it when that happens. Really good story.. NO NEXT CHAPTER BUTTON! Argh. I frustrate myself. Hope you enjoy!


	4. The Marauder's Map

**CHAPTER 3**

_The Marauder's Map_

* * *

'Harry!' McGonagall had come rushing back, her face looking uncharacteristically flushed, her dark red robes billowing behind her as she strode back onto the scene, faster than Harry would have even thought that she could.

Harry turned his head around, slightly, to see the Headmistress standing next to him, eyes concentrating, hawk-like, on the impostors in front of them both, wand steady and pinpointed exactly and purposely on the fake Dumbledore, the only one with a wand, in the cluster of scared and worried people in front of Harry. _As they should be_, Harry thought.

Harry did not care to look at what sort of wand the fake Dumbledore was clutching, as he asked McGonagall a question quietly, and out of the side of his mouth.

'Where is -' Harry began, but his old Transfiguration teacher interrupted him, smiling slightly, speaking so softly and surreptitiously, that Harry would have bet a lot, plenty of money that even the impostor Death Eaters, standing only a few feet away from them, did not even hear, did not even notice that she spoke, perhaps.

'Professor Lowry?' She muttered, smiling ever so slightly and continuing when she saw Harry's incredulous slight nod of his head, and undoubtedly, Harry could feel on his face, his also incredulous facial expression.

'He is back to teaching his lesson, though I must say; he was very disappointed that Harry Potter could not join him once more. From what I heard as I left, it sounded as if they still had a good many questions for you.'

She smiled even wider when she heard Harry's groan, but did not allow him any time or space to formulate anything else to say in reply, let alone say it.

'Harry, please could you ask Professor Slughorn -'

'_Him_? Why _me_?' Harry groaned loudly, bringing attention to their conversation to the Death Eaters, who looked at them in a sort of scared inquiry, though Harry did not care to notice.

'Harry.' McGonagall said, indignant. 'We need to find out how they have done this; _who_ they are, _why_ they are doing this. We cannot guarantee that the spell's effect's will wear off, and I doubt that they shall, I cast a counter-spell before you came -'

Harry barely had time to marvel at the skill of the Headmistress, as she continued speaking in that fast, feverish whisper, making Harry have to strain to hear the fast words that were indeed very difficult to decipher.

'We need Veritaserum, Harry. We need to know the _truth_.'

'But - but you need another person - what if one of them -' Harry protested weakly, and was met with a fierce glare, and a glint in his old professor's eye that was not at all dissimilar to the one that Ginny or Mrs Weasley got when they began to get fired up.

'If you are about to say _attack_, Harry, I can assure you that I am perfectly skilled enough to defend myself. And only one of _them_ has a wand.'

McGonagall looked at him disapprovingly, her eyes almost telling him that there was never going to be any chance that he could avoid Professor Slughorn, even for this. Her wand flicked meaningfully towards the people, Ex Death Eaters in front of them.

Harry, recognising that his protestations were futile, his plans of avoiding the Walrus man scuppered, he rose to his feet, an edged away slowly, in the general direction of the way to the Potions classroom in the dungeons.

'Send me a patronus is anything happens.' He said, weakly, and began walking away and around the corner of the corridor as Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes exasperatedly and began talking in the same sort of voice that she had used on the day, or night, of the Final Battle, using it to, Harry assumed, frog-march the impostors up to her study.

'Move! And don't you dare try anything - I have enough skill and experience to knock all of you flat in ten seconds!'

Harry did not doubt for a single second her words.

Harry sighed as he knocked on the heavy wooden door, grumbling slightly under his breath as he comprehended what he was about to do.

Harry had, rather skilfully, he was pleased to add, avoided Horace Slughorn for the eleven years after the war, though the man of whom looked remarkably like a Walrus still sent him, and Ginny, invitations to every Christmas party, or any others that he had hosted over the years. Every single time, Harry was forced to reply to the persistent invites by an amused Ginny and Hermione, who sat laughing at him, as he quickly scrawled a polite "bugger off" to the man that was under the very wrong impression that Harry was a master Potioneer.

Harry only had to hope that, by the time his children attended the school, Slughorn was either retired, or, as the man seemed to have a surprising amount of stamina for living, for at least the next fifteen or twenty years, that one of his children had inherited either side of the family's Grandmother's skill at Potions, their Grandfather's and parents were pretty much hopeless at the subject.

Even if they did fail miserably at Potions, Harry thought wryly, they were going to be inducted into the Slug Club as soon as they set foot into the castle. They were the children of the Saviour of the Wizarding World and Head Auror, as well as a top Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies and award winning writer for the Daily Prophet. To top it all off, they too, were both former members of the Slug Club, as well as their Grandmother being one of Slughorn's personal favourites. Lily, in particular, was going to suffer for that one. In fact, it was already clear that Albus resembled Harry so much that he was going to be endlessly said that he was "so much like his father", as well as James, of whom resembled Harry so much that it was uncanny, apart from the eyes, and would be told exactly the same as Harry had always been, and still did, occasionally; "you look exactly like your father, except from your eyes, you have your mother's eyes".

Harry liked to look at his sons, and see what he would have probably looked like at their age; there were no photographic evidence that he even existed for the ten years of gloom at the Dursley's.

In essence, Slughorn would rather die than not have all Harry's children under his belt of famous connections.

Shaking his head slightly, Harry sighed as the door was opened by a very bored looking girl, who looked to be in about her Third Year, wearing Hufflepuff robes and a scowl.

Harry smiled at her slightly, but it dropped straight off of her face, as she squeaked and then realised the it was Harry, of whom she was looking at, her eyes sliding over his forehead, of which Harry hurriedly tried to flatten some of his fringe over his scar, that was not nearly as sharp and biting on his head as it had once been, but was not anywhere near unnoticeable, either.

There was a moment of tense, awkward silence, for Harry, anyway, as the young girl with light brown hair stared at him in completely undisguised shock.

'My - Miss Entwhistle! What on earth could be taking you so long to open the door -'

The booming voice was heard a few seconds before the befuddled face of Slughorn emerged behind the flustered girl. She squeaked, and ran back to her seat, though Harry could only see, with a growing sense of horror, the large smile that was now developing upon the ever-growing face of Professor Slughorn.

'Harry, my boy! What a surprise!' Slughorn boomed out, grasping Harry's forearm in a death grip as he yanked the door open, and quite violently dragged Harry into the classroom, amid much excitable whispering and steaming cauldrons.

'Hello, Professor.' Harry said wearily, not wanting to spark up too much conversation; encouraging Slughorn to have a full blown conversation with you was like standing in the middle of a herd of Hippogriff's and shouting out insults at them - dangerous.

'Harry! It certainly has been a long time, hasn't it? Haven't been avoiding me on purpose, have you?' Slughorn said good-naturedly, and Harry quickly arranged his face into a politely bemused expression, rather than the panic that he was confident that his facial expression would show, if he did not.

'Oh, no Sir, not at all.'

'Good, good.' Slughorn said, before pausing for a moment, watching Harry, appraising Harry, with a hungry and predatory look on his face, Harry noticed with uncomfortable, uncanny accuracy.

'Married to Ginerva Weasley, eh? Potter, now though,' Slughorn winked at Harry in clearly what he thought was an endearing manner. 'star Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies, and winner of the best Daily Prophet writer last year! Very talented with the old Bat-Bogey Hex, too, if my memory doesn't fail me.' Slughorn turned to his gawking class, clearly starting a history lesson on Harry and Ginny's lives, and of how he was a very close family friend of theirs. Forgetting, of course, the minor detail that their only correspondence was the rejected invitations to countless parties.

'And, of course you all know Harry here!' Slughorn shouted at his class, dragging an unwilling Harry close to his side. 'Head Auror, Order of Merlin - First Class, youngest seeker at Hogwarts in a century - shame that you weren't in my house, eh!' Harry grimaced widely as Slughorn whacked him on the back, in what he clearly quite thought was a friendly gesture, 'As well as defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in nineteen ninety eight! Both he and his wife former member's of the Slug Club, as well as his mother!' Slughorn looked at Harry once more, before raising a questioning eyebrow, and asking, 'What brings you here, my boy?'

Harry was about to answer, but then Slughorn interrupted him once again.

'Oh, Harry! How could I forget the children? What about little James, Albus and Lily? How time flies … how old are they, now?'

Harry hesitated, waiting for Slughorn to interrupt once more, but as the man was simply looking at Harry expectantly, Harry resigned himself to telling Slughorn in the shortest possible way.

'Er … James is four, Albus is three, and -'

'And Lily is one, oh yes, I'll be looking forward to teaching them when they're old enough, I'm sure!'

Evidently, Slughorn already knew enough about Harry's family for him to complete Harry's words for him, but Harry did not have any time to contemplate this thought, as Slughorn had started talking again.

'I must say, I hope that they have all inherited your talent for Potions!'

Harry, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and as though he wanted to bolt out of the room as soon as possible, as soon as he got the Veritaserum, answered a reluctant;

'It's all down to luck, Professor.'

'Harry, my boy, don't be so modest! Your brewing my in lessons were among the very best; only your mother could possibly top it, and even then, she would have a hard time of it!'

Slughorn beamed, and then fired yet another question at Harry. Harry was just simply relieved that it was the right one, the one that he was looking for.

'So, what brings you to my humble Potions classroom, today, Harry?'

Harry was incredibly tempted to snort, and loudly, at the word "humble" used in the same context as anything that even remotely belonged, or had anything to do with Horace Slughorn, but refrained from doing so.

'Professor McGonagall and I are in need of some,' Harry paused for a moment, and mumbled the next word, not wanting the Third Years staring at him with such reverence that it was beginning the creep Harry out to hear, 'Veritaserum.'

Slughorn's face, that was beaming before, dropped, bringing Harry's stomach with it.

'Harry, my boy - I supplied my last batch to the Ministry after I had finished using it in my demonstration for my Sixth Years - if I had known -'

'Don't worry about it, Professor, I'm sure I'll figure out something else.'

But Harry was _not_ sure. How else could he find out who the people were? These evil impostor's would not tell the truth outright, of course they would not, it would destroy their entire point of their mission. Neither Harry, nor McGonagall could use Leglimency efficiently enough to penetrate the undoubtedly very thick walls of these people's minds, if they could penetrate Hogwarts, then they were bound to be able to defend their minds the least bit competently.

Harry strode out of the classroom, ignoring Slughorn's booming shouts that followed him out of the room, and was thankful for not the first time that it was in the middle of the day, whilst lessons were going on, which meant stares and struggling to hear himself think and walk through the massive, thundering crowds.

What could he use? _What_?

Harry's mind was thinking wildly, trying to come up with some sort of solution to the problem at hand; and then he stopped dead in the middle of the corridor.

_The map_.

Teddy - _Teddy had the map_.

Harry sprinted faster than he ever had in his life, in those few minutes that he was running madly towards the Owlery. Harry hoped beyond hope that Teddy would be there, or at least somewhere near there, on the way.

In fact, by the time Harry found Teddy, he almost knocked him over in the process.

'Oof!' Teddy said, stumbling backwards into the wall as Harry leaned against the same wall, struggling to breathe.

'Teddy - Teddy -' Harry panted leaning on his arm against the relievingly cold stone wall.

'What? What's nearly knocking me over for?' Teddy looked quite indignant, before his expression changed to concern, and he poked Harry's shoulder.

'Uncle - Uncle Harry?'

'Teddy - I need - I need the - the map -'

'_That_ map? _The_ map? Moony and Padfoot and Prongs -'

'Yes - that - I _need_ it - _now_ -'

Harry was anticipating a trip to the Hufflepuff common room, but, much to his eternal happiness and surprise, Teddy drew the old and withered parchment out of an inner pocket of his robes, looking, staring bemusedly at Harry, of whom clutched the old map in a iron grip, so hard that it might of torn with the amount of pressure that his grip sustained upon it.

'I - I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'

The ink blossomed upon the weary parchment as Harry was sure it had done the very first time that it was used after completed. The ink, running intricate rivulets over the parchment, forming words that Harry did not bother to read this time around, spread all over the parchment, even as Harry almost ripped it, opening it so violently.

Harry barely saw Teddy's confused face as he was being so violent with the treasured heirloom, the one that they both treasured greatly, as Harry nearly fell off of the ground in his shock.

There, in the Headmistress' study were five extra people; five people of whom Harry was absolutely certain had not graced the worn old piece of unsuspecting parchment for exactly eleven years. They were there, undoubtedly on the now yellowing and frail piece of life-saving, _literally_, weathered parchment.

_Albus Dumbledore_.

_Remus Lupin_.

_Nymphadora Lupin_.

_Frederick Weasley_.

_Colin Creevey_.

* * *

**- Phew! I was literally typing for England on this chapter. Hmm. I had this at eight and a half pages, but it seemed too much for one update, so I split it into two chapters for you. It seemed like too much was going on in the original. Next chapter will come soon. Hope you enjoy this! Review/Subscribe/Favourite!**

**- SpellMugwump97**

**READINGhearts17- **Good That's what I'm aiming for, after all. Hope you liked this one!

**neverbeliketherest- **WOO! I love your names for them, they made me laugh so muchXD Thank you! Next update will be really soon, so don't worry about having to wait for the next one for too long:)

**page-394-always1- **Thank you! I'm good with visual stuff. I like art, if that's any consellation:3 I don't think that the house would be torn down.. maybe if it was up to the Muggle's, it would be, but as it is sort of a Memorial to the First Wizarding War, as well as that statue of Harry and his parents in the grave yard, I don't think that the Ministry, or whoever may be in charge of Wizarding Memorials, (?) would allow it to be bulldozed by Muggle's, or destroyed by wizards and witches. Plus, it would be such a shame too:/ Thank you1 I love leaving little bits like that around, it's why I love the Harry Potter books, like, when Harry is in Borgin and Burke's by accident just before his Second Year, with the Floo Powder mistake and all that, (by the way.. 'Diagon Alley', 'Diagonally' CLEVER! I love JK Rowling!) he see's all of the instruments used by Draco Malfoy to try and kill Dumbledore, and, in the Fourth book, Voldemort says to Harry, in the Graveyard when they're about to duel; 'We are not playing a game of hide and seek.', but in the Seventh book, Voldemort is described as looking like a 'child playing hide and seek.', or something along those lines. IT'S SO CLEVER. It's also why I love detective stories too. Maybe it's inherited, you know, solving stuff. Yeah, my dad always comes home with stories of stuff that he does at work.. he used to be a normal PC, but then we moved from London to up here, and he decided to do this, so he did interviewing people, (he uses the same techniques that he does on criminals, on me. What?) and then he went on and now he solves murders and stuff, and he tells us about some of his past cases, (not allowed the current ones, for obvious reasons) over dinner. Yum. Yeah, I only know one Great-Grandad on one side, the same as the 'Maggie' person, but I think I've based her on both of my Great-Grandmother's, even though the one I was basing her on died when my mum was sixteen, and the other I've met, but she died, as well as her husband, my Great-Grandad, who I've never met. This is so confusing. I'm going to stop talking about my massive and ever growing family now:L I can't stand all of the graphic stuff! It just makes everything awkward, you could be reading a really good story, and then BAM, sex-scene. JK Rowling doesn't write stuff like that, and she has written the best franchise of books in history, so if she can manage that, so can I. I can't really remember Lowry the painter.. I'd Google him:L I like my character, Professor Lowry. He's such a sweetie:') Yeah, Harry had to be angry. He's Harry! It's what he does. I hate it when they go all lovey dovey, if dead people suddenly appeared, I would seriously go mental! I tried to make it realistic. Lavender WILL be coming back. As will all the good people who died as a result of the war, either First or Second. The Prologue was just, sort of an intro, like, the main people coming back for _Harry. _I'm undecided about the bad guys coming back. I was going to make it so that nobody with a Dark Mark could come back, and.. HEY! Seventh book.. Fenrir Greyback says he has no Dark Mark!:O Sorted. Not every Death Eater can have a Dark Mark either, can they? Muahahahaha. I feel evil. At least I'm not being so evil to bring back Voldemort as well. I mean, some people seem to want to see poor Harry suffer! ALL THE TIME! GIVE HIM A BREAK! LET HIM HAVE _SOME_ HAPPINESS. Unfortunately, that means no Snape.. but.. I'm afraid to say that I'm one of those, 'Fair enough, Snape was really brave and all, hats off to him, but he was still a massive git.' Potterheads. Sorry:/ As you may have gathered, (hopefully, I hope I'm not that bad of a writer:S) they are NOT impostor's. YAY! I know:'( Teddy and Tonks and Remus! AWW! I just love the Lupin's so damn much! ANYWAY. Thank you so much, next chapter is on it's way soon. I really hope that you enjoyed, and don't worry this time, it's only three in the afternoon over here in England;D No more late nights;D THANK YOU! YOU ARE AMAZINGLY BRILLIANT! I should've probably PM'ed this. Meh.

**Lupinesence- **Cool, thank you! Hope you enjoyed:)

**k****gryfferinclawpuff98- **Thank you! I tried hard to make it as realistic as possible, you know? Here it is, the next is coming soon!

**UntalentedArtist- **Yeah, trying so hard to make this as realistic as possible, glad you thought that it worked. I hate it when they immediately hug each other and stuff, no matter how good the writing. Here it is, and the next one is coming up _very_ shortly. Enjoy!

**Anora Blaze TrueHeart- **DONE AND DUSTED. I was actually going to do the Veritaserum, but then, literally just before I was about to write when Harry receives the Veritaserum, your review came through. Like, literally. It was cool, but _weird_. Hope you enjoy, and then next update/chapter is coming _really_ soon:D


	5. The Grim

**CHAPTER FOUR**

_The Grim_

* * *

'Oh _Merlin_.' Harry muttered, stumbling against the wall in his shock. His breathing was heavy and weary, and Teddy looked at him in a worried concern as Harry nearly broke down on that very spot.

'Harry? Uncle Harry?'

Harry held up his hand, as he tried to re-catch the breath that he had lost from the shock of seeing those names on parchment, unable to comprehend the fact that _somehow_, in these wild, surreal circumstances, they were _there_, _alive_, and _breathing_. Harry could say _sorry_, in the probable little time that they had here, knowing his infallible bad luck, and just hope that they did forgive him, because if they did not, Harry was sure that he would simply break down, he did not think that he could live, even with Ginny, Teddy, James, Albus, Lily, or anybody else that he dearly loved, if they rejected him. He had _mourned_ so very much for them, he had never truly got over the guilt of the deaths at the Final Battle, if he could only have given himself up sooner, then they might not have died …

Harry's mind was a mad, surreal mess of a mind, and he did not even respond to Teddy's callings of his name.

The only thing that he responded to, and in shock, was a very warm sensation in a pocket in his robes, and it was only upon thought that he realised that it was his portkey, given to him by the Ministry, that cleverly heated up when Harry was urgently needed, a clever invention of Hermione's, but the only problem was that it was roughly thirty seconds before Harry would be whisked away to the Ministry.

'Teddy - listen to me.' Harry said, urgently speaking to Teddy, making sure that he would listen to Harry, for it was incredibly important that he did.

'Do_ not _look at this map, okay? Just wipe it, and -' Harry, cursing his stupidity, wiped the map, and continued speaking, changing track of the conversation.

'On second thoughts, I'll take it.' It was simply too dangerous, Harry thought, to leave a curious eleven year old boy with a map on which he could possibly find the names of his two, long dead parents, amongst other dead people that he would have been closest to. Harry knew that, if that had been him, and he was seeing _his_ parents' names etched upon the weary parchment that Harry was now stuffing back inside of his robes, Harry may very well of had a heart attack.

'Now, I've got to go to the Ministry, the Portkey's going to take me in about,' Harry checked his old watch, that had once been Fabian Prewett's, 'fifteen seconds.'

'But - I thought that you couldn't disapperate out of Hogwarts -' Teddy questioned, confusedly, and Harry cursed the intelligent and curious streaks, though so large "streaks" that they could rarely be considered as much, more like Teddy's entire personality, that he had inherited from both of his parents.

'You can't, but you can Portkey out, but not _in_.' Harry told Teddy hurriedly, not noticing his Godson's nod, as there was only ten seconds left until the Portkey went off, and Harry had yet to send a Patronus to the Headmistress' study, to tell McGonagall, prove to her that the impostor's, Harry's heart swelled at the thought, and his mouth broke into an ecstatic smile, were the real deal, and, quite simply, not impostor's at all.

Harry raised his wand, and enjoyed watching Teddy's amazement as Harry spoke through the Patronus, the very same that was duplicated over in the Headmistress' study.

'No Veritaserum. They are not impostor's, they are real. I can't say how, but trust me.'

The Patronus vanished,, seemingly evaporating into thin air before Harry and Teddy's eyes, and Harry only just had time to grin and wave at Teddy, who was looking absolutely and completely gob smacked and astounded by what he had just witnessed, before he felt the sickening, but familiar jerk in his navel that signified his leaving Hogwarts, and entering the Ministry.

Groaning, with his eyes closed, Harry felt himself land on some sort of smooth, cold marble, and prayed that he did not land in the very middle of the Atrium, and embarrass himself in front of the entire Ministry of Magic.

However, hearing no thundering footsteps or laughter, Harry cracked open one of his eye lids, and was grateful to see that he was only lying on the floor of his very own little office, his little section of the Ministry.

Harry rose to his feet, groaning. He was just starting to comprehend the fact that those people were _back_, and were alive and well, and currently sitting in the Headmistress' study, hopefully no longer at wand point from McGonagall, upon Harry's Patronus message.

Hearing a slight rustling noise, Harry withdrew the Marauder's Map from an inner pocket of his cloak, and began setting it down on his cluttered desk, before changing his mind, and placing the heirloom in his desk drawer. The one thing that he did _not_ need was somebody to discover it, and Harry dreaded to think of what would happen if a journalist came across it. A shudder very nearly ran through his body, when he thought of what Rita Skeeter would do with the Map.

Just as Harry had finished carefully placing locking charms upon the desk draw, his own thoughts making him more paranoid then ever, his door burst open, making Harry nearly fall over onto the ground once more in his shock.

'Dennis!' Harry shouted out in surprise, wondering why Dennis, the Unspeakable, was in the Auror Department. It had to be something to do with why his Portkey had heated up.

'Dennis - I thought it was your son's birthday -'

'Yes, yes it is! I'd rather not think about it, my wife is going to _murder_ me!' Dennis was looking so comical, wringing his hands with such a worried look on his face, that Harry struggled to bite back the uproarious laughter that was edging it's way up his throat.

'Did you Portkey me here?' Harry asked, interestedly. Anything that the Department of Mysteries was willing to disclose to the Auror Department was going to be serious, and, better yet, was going to be something of which they could not, were not able to solve by themselves, which was just _rich_.

'Yeah. Yeah, there was a huge influx of magical disturbance in the centre of the Department -'

'Dennis - Dennis, wait - in _English_, please?' Harry looked at Dennis helplessly as he grinned at Harry, as they began walking briskly out of Harry's office, and towards the Department of Mysteries.

'Sorry - forgot that Auror's don't have too much brain power,' Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly, not minding the insult at all. Dennis did not mean it, they had known each other long enough to not enforce the fierce rivalry between the Auror's and Unspeakable's. They simply just stood on the sidelines, watching as Harry's Auror team, and Dennis' comrades fought like two Niffler's for a bar of gold. And laughed. Hard.

'Basically, something big has happened in the middle of the Department.'

'It's got to be pretty big if you lot will ask the Auror's to help out.'

'It took a long time for the Department to actually consider it, let alone take action, believe me. We were snooping around the entire place for two hours before your Portkey was activated.'

'Some people never learn.' Harry finally muttered, as they entered the dark and confusing lair of the Unspeakable's.

Dennis grinned, and led Harry through the maze of swirling doors and whirring noises, and Harry was vaguely aware of his surroundings, enough so that he felt a very definite sense of déjà vu from his Fifth Year.

When the surreal experience finally halted, Harry felt as if he had been drunk, though was perfectly sober in his thoughts and in his mind, the thought vaguely passed through his head that it would not surprise him in the slightest, if he found out that the Department of Mysteries had cooked up their entrance just to confuse the Auror's that were, nevertheless, hardly ever admitted into their Department anyway.

Harry looked up, and nearly suffered from cardiac arrest, when he saw which room on the Department of Mysteries that he was in. Perhaps he thought that he might remember the way through this huge maze to get to it, perhaps he thought that it may have been a feeling that would have alerted him when he was near to the dreaded chamber of which he was now in, but, in eventuality, Harry had not set foot in this place for roughly fourteen years, and he had no desire, in the past, or now, in the present, to ever do so again.

The black arch fluttered amicably, as a few Unspeakable's hovered around it, inspecting it with concerned expressions and flickering wand movements. Dennis hurried over to join them, and at the same time, Harry made his way to the man of whom he knew was Head of the Department, and did not even bother to aggravate the man, as he usually did, but got straight to the point, much to the man's surprise.

'What happened?' Harry asked pointedly, nearly blowing his fuse then and there, when the man refused to acknowledge him, though it was obvious that Harry was stood there.

'There was an large influx of magical energy, that was out of the norm -'

'Yes, but what _caused_ it?' Harry cut in, making the annoying, infuriating man raise an eyebrow at the cutting remark.

'And what makes you think that I will disclose that information to _you_, Mr Potter?'

'Nothing, Mr Redgrove.'

'Well, why should I, Potter?'

'Because I was called in here, from an _incredibly_ important matter at Hogwarts -'

'Well, I can assure you, that _I_ certainly wasn't the one to call you in, I retain the feeling that this Department should be kept as _impenetrable_ as possible -'

'Can't be _that_ impenetrable, though, can it, Redgrove? I happen to remember an incident of which a group of teenager's broke _into_ this "impenetrable" Department -'

'Potter, we all know that the Ministry was incompetent at that point in time -'

'GRIM!'

Both of their heads nearly banged into each other's painfully, as there was a horrified shout coming from where the group of Unspeakable's were inspecting the whispering arch on top of the dais.

A man was pointing to a dark and shadowy corner, with an utterly terrified look on his face, as a great black dog froze very suddenly, clearly freezing at the fact of being caught.

The dog began sprinting out of the room, and it took Harry a second to process the fact that _maybe_, just _maybe_ …

'STOP THAT DOG!' Harry shouted, beginning a wild chase after the shaggy looking dog, pushing people haphazardly out of the way as he pursued the great black ball of fur, that he could only just see whipping around a corner.

Harry was entirely unaware of what was happening around him, and he was running wildly for yet the third time that day, hoping beyond hope …

They ended up in the Atrium. Harry had no idea _how_ he could have possibly got there, or how the, _possible_, dog had gotten there either, but all he knew was that he was sprinting, sprinting after that big black dog that he had only ever seen in his nightmares for fourteen years, even up to this day, sprinting to find out the _truth_ …

He was shooting spells manically, and he could hear vague shouts of his name, and exclamations of indignation as he accidentally, though he did not care, push people over in his wild haste to get to the unknown, but possibly _very familiar_ dog …

Finally, one of his spells hit, one to reveal an Animagus as their human form, and Harry watched, with a growing sense of uplifting happiness and delight, as the black, shaggy dog, morphed into a human being.

A human being that had been dead for roughly fourteen years.

'Let me explain!' The cowering figure said, as Harry walked towards him, hardly daring to believe it himself.

'I didn't betray James and Lily - I can prove it! I never even had a trial!'

'Sirius …' Harry said, laying a hand on his Godfather's shoulder.

He felt Sirius tense up in shock, clearly recognising Harry's voice from somewhere, and then he looked slowly up at Harry.

'Harry?'

* * *

***DRUM ROLL*  
- You people are lucky! Two updates in the same day.. much, much love to you! Review/Subscribe/Favourite:)  
How do you think that the people are coming back to life?**

**- SpellMugwump97**

**dreams823- **Tadaa! Hope you enjoy:)

**Littleforest- **Trust me, I'm excited too! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Hopefully more on the way soon:)

**Brian01- **Here it is, I hope you liked it:)

**anthony37-** I completely agree with you on the fact of Harry and his parents' relationships. It's going to be tense and awkward, but I think that as they're so similar in character, (or I'm going to make them be so), I think that they will have more of a friendship, than a parent son relationship. that said, Lily and James are going to fawn over James, Albus and Lily like there's no tomorrow, specifically Albus, as he looks so much like Harry. I'm not going to make them argue all the time, as I doubt that they would, but I can assure you that I am not going to make it all quick, so that they all are x amount close to one another, and it won't be all lovey dovey, simply because I want it to be as realistic as possible, (and you can understand, that is probably not the easiest thing to do, given the nature of the story). Teddy will have an easier time of it, simply due to the fact that he is younger, and more susceptible to change and accepting of new people and new circumstances. That doesn't mean that he will be all lovey dovey straight away either, though. Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed:)

**Loves to read books- **Hope it was all right and you liked reading it!

**kgryfferinclawpuff98- **All in due course, I promise:) Yes, definitely some portrait action! Dumbledore's portrait will be frozen though, as he is alive once more:( Hope you liked, enjoy!

**READINGhearts17-** Me neither, I'm practically reading this stor with you, I can assure you! I'm sort of.. er.. making it up as I go along. Oh well! I hope you liked reading it:)


	6. Who Are You?

**CHAPTER 5**

_Who are you?_

* * *

'H - Harry?' Sirius said, his gaunt eyes wide and unbelieving, his mouth, surrounded by uneven and dirty stubble, hanging, gaping wide open.

'Come on, Sirius.' Harry said, gently steering his near paralysed Godfather around, with an arm around his shoulders. It still brought home to Harry of just how much he had grown since he was fifteen; when he was fifteen, he barely reached Sirius' shoulder, and now, they were roughly the same height; Harry might even be slightly taller.

People were staring, whispering amongst themselves, perhaps wondering why the Head Auror was comforting some strange man that had randomly appeared as a dog in the middle of the Atrium.

Harry did not care about whether or not the other Ministry workers twigged that Sirius was who he was, or they realised that Sirius was his Godfather. All that mattered now was that Sirius was _here_, and _alive_. _Breathing_ and _real_.

Harry _knew_ that he did not have any proof, and one part of his mind was battling with the other, saying to him in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Alastor Moody, that Harry should interrogate this man, this possible Sirius, this equally possible impostor, but Harry did not have the heart. Sirius was confused, and shaky, his eyes were trained on the ground that they were both passing over, the ground that turned from sleek marble and tiles to polished metal as they entered the thankfully empty lift that would take them to the Auror Department, and to Harry's office.

They were mute the entire journey, and though short it was, Harry could see Sirius' eyes surreptitiously survey the robes that Harry was wearing, the badges that identically adorned each of Harry's shoulders upon his navy robes, and the silver crest with the Ministry of Magic symbol upon it, and then the large "A" that was sewn atop, that signified Harry as the Head of the Auror Department.

Harry felt Sirius stiffen under his grip around his shoulders, and Harry quickly switched his grip, moving his arm back to his side, and looking at the frightened man that used to be so frivolous and full of life.

'Sirius.' Harry said softly, looking at the lowered eyes of his Godfather. 'I'm _not_ handing you in.'

Harry's stomach did a few leaps when Sirius' head jumped up violently, and looked at Harry with shining eyes, eyes that clearly portrayed the emotions that Harry was feeling himself, and equally trying desperately to contain; that this circumstance was too good to be true.

'I'm Harry - I know the _truth_.' Harry clapped Sirius on the shoulder as the doors clattered open to a bustling Auror Department, and Harry clasped Sirius' shoulder tightly, moving as quickly as he could to the office that lay at the very end of the rows of cubicles, each littered with various pictures of their families and friends, but plenty more space was covered with maps with various multicoloured pins stabbed into them, as well as some hand drawn, and some magically moving lines crisscrossing all over them. Scowling pictures of Death Eaters and mundane criminals were pinned up outside of the cubicles, so that Harry and Sirius were forced to stride quickly through a sea of faces from both of the wars, as well as recently, most with bright red lettering underneath them, either reading "CONVICTED", or "DEAD". Harry felt proud of the success of the Department for catching all of these people; he remembered with a particular amount of amusement a man who had fancied himself as the next "Dark Lord"; really, the man could hardly cast a tickling charm.

'Sir!' Harry's head spun around so quickly that he felt that he may have broken his neck for a moment, but his thoughts were cut off by Derek Patten, a young Auror just qualified, hurrying up to him with a file that looked fit to burst, and looking very shell-shocked and flustered. Harry would know what _that_ face looked like, he had received it for three years straight, until the man had finally gotten used to Harry being around.

'The Minister needs you to have a look at this report, he said it was urgent -'

'Thank you, Patten.' Harry said, feeling bad that he was cutting him off, but also feeling that the growing sense of urgency to get Sirius to safety and secludedness was of a greater need.

'Who's that?' Patten asked, looking interestedly at Sirius, peeing around and trying to see his face. Harry, too, looked over at his Godfather, and saw that his eyes were glazed over, looking, staring down at the ground unseeingly, his hair that used to be well groomed and looked after, now lank and messy, creating a curtained effect around his gaunt face, of which Harry could hardly see through himself.

'Nobody that you need to worry about, Patten.' Harry said cuttingly, and Patten did seem to get the message. He nodded, hair falling slightly into his eyes, and then hurried off to his cubicle, to do something that Harry had no incentive to know at the moment, or to ever find out, as he should, as Head of the Department. He had more important things to attend to than a few files.

Gripping the bursting folder in the hand that was not tightly gripping Sirius' wooden and bony shoulder, Harry guided Sirius into his office, and locked the door, pulling down the blinds with a flick of his wand as he went, desperately not wanting to be disturbed.

Harry gently pulled Sirius into a plush chair that was off to the corner in the office, and reached across his vacant Godfather to take out two bottles of Butterbeer, one for himself and one for Sirius, opening both of them and throwing the bulging file into a drawer in his desk.

They sat in silence, Harry not touching his Butterbeer aside from one or two sips at the beginning of the prolonged silence, nursing the cold bottle and rolling it between the two of his hands, watching the words "_I must not tell lies_" fade away into the pink, and then stand out in a stark white.

Sirius was different. He took continual sips of his drink, perhaps revelling in the cold first taste, and then the warm feeling in his gut, or perhaps he found it as something to do. Either way, by the time Sirius had completed, drained his bottle, Harry had not even drunk a quarter of his.

'Do you want another?' Harry asked, his soft tone of voice seeming sharp and piercing in the silence that had only previously been interrupted by the soft ticking of the old and weary carriage clock that sat on the ornate fireplace to the right of Harry's desk, opposite the room to where he and Sirius were sitting in the tense silence.

Harry saw Sirius stiffen, more than he already was, anyway, and then saw his face slowly rise up, so that his eyes met Harry's in agonizing slowness.

Sirius' hands loosened, and the Butterbeer bottle dropped from his solid grasp, falling with a soft sort of clatter onto the floor beneath both of their feet. Harry did not even begin to wonder why the bottle did not shatter, smash, it was something that he had never thought of before, in all of the three years that he had inhabited this office as Head of the Department, as Sirius spoke in a haunted voice;

'You're not Harry.'

Harry felt panicked, the last thing he needed was _Sirius_ to not believe him; Harry was having a hard time in himself believing that Sirius was_ Sirius_.

'No, no - Sirius I swear I am -'

'No! No, you're not! Harry is _fifteen_!'

It was at that point that Harry finally understood Sirius' sudden confusion, the last that Sirius had seen of Harry was when Harry had been fifteen, had been much shorter, scrawnier, and in the middle of a Voldemort poisoned, infested adolescence.

'Sirius, I need you to _listen_ to me -'

'No! Why should I! Why - _where's Harry_? _What have you done with him_?'

Sirius was now stumbling backwards in shock, evidently trying to get as far away from him as possible, and it was then, that Harry realised that Sirius was currently unarmed, without his wand, and Harry was the only one armed with a wand, or any other weapon aside from his fists and brute strength.

Harry barely had the time to register the fact that Sirius was, as if in slow-motion, falling back into the licking flames that were residing in the fireplace, and as he ran forward, he plunged his hand into the pot of powder, his hand scrabbling against the bottom of the pot, old and worn clay flaking off and embedding itself underneath Harry's fingernails, and then Harry shouted with as much force, and as clearly as he possibly could in the hurried, panic stricken moment that it was;

'POTTER HOLLOW!'

In the hopes that _possibly_, _maybe_, Sirius might end up in Harry's own fireplace, in his own living room, to reach a place of safety and security in which Harry could fully _explain_.

Sirius disappeared from the plush office in a whirl of bright green flames, his face looking surprised and shocked as he was whipped away to what, hopefully, was Harry's own home on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow.

Harry paused for a single moment, breathing heavily and savagely as he processed what was happening, all in this simple hour.

Tonks, Lupin, Dumbledore, Fred, Colin, and now _Sirius_ had returned, from the dead. It made no possible, legitimate, logical sense. How could it? The words of Albus Dumbledore himself, one of the people that had come back from the grave, said that "_No spell can reawaken the dead_". Those words felt as if they were said from the end of a very long tunnel, a distant memory of a time in Harry's life, that it felt like had been tried to blot in out of his life, as schoolchildren would try to blot out a fallen ink pot, to prevent it from staining their painstakingly planned and written essay.

But … did it still apply to potions? Harry, quite simply had no clue. Not the faintest trace, glimmer of an inspired idea.

And, it was with that, leaving thought that Harry suddenly snapped out of his reverie.

Sirius, although Harry knew would never harm any person that Harry loved when he was fifteen, and also hopefully soon too, once he knew that Harry was _Harry_, the very same fifteen year old that he, in his mind, had left behind just a couple of hours before.

But, that did not mean that Sirius would hold back from attacking Ginny, though Harry doubted that he would go as far to harm Harry's children. Sirius was not evil, or twisted. Just confused, and, though Harry knew for an almost definite that Sirius would never admit it; scared out of his wits.

And with that, Harry threw another small handful of Floo powder into the licking, roaring orange flames, and when they turned a bright, vivacious green, Harry shouted the name of his house, and followed Sirius through the flames, and back into his home.

Harry, not being at all trained in the finesse of using Floo powder sophisticatedly, and usually only just managing to retain his balance and stay upright after being spat out of the other end, the destination of which he wanted to arrive, managed to tumble onto the deep red rug at home, in his near empty living room.

'Ow.' Harry muttered, lifting his head up slightly, to see Sirius staring at him in what looked like a mixture of confusion, anger, and, dare Harry say it; bemused amusement.

Harry immediately straightened up, and began trying, and failing to an epic degree to brush off the soot from his dark navy robes. Seeing, eventually, that the task was going, and never was going to have any success, Harry stopped, and looked to his Godfather of whom was looking at Harry now, with his facial expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation.

'Sirius, you've got to _listen_.' Harry said, his tone pleading and desperate. 'You're - you're in the year two thousand and nine … I realise that it's hard to believe -'

'Hard to believe? _Hard to believe_?' Sirius snorted derisively. 'I was in nineteen ninety five the last I knew! And then, I get spat out of that godforsaken piece of drapery, only to find myself in the middle of some sort of _alternate_ Ministry, where every person that was there literally there a _second_ ago - a _second_ - is gone, and the place where they all were is suddenly crawling with Ministry types, and then _you_! _You_! Who's just come out of nowhere, saying that you believe that I'm innocent, and saying that you're … _Harry_ …'

Sirius collapsed onto the deep red sofa behind him, as his voice petered out into silence. Harry was rather taken aback by this sudden display of anger and confusion, and he too, collapsed onto a sofa that was conveniently placed behind him. Sirius' head was in his hands, the callous hands gripping at his hair and pulling at it, as if doing that would get rid of, or erase the current situation.

'Oh _Merlin_.' Sirius muttered, staring at Harry intensely. Harry, sensing that it was now his turn to speak, or at least the fact that Sirius was not going to continue any time soon.

'I know that your Animagus is a big black dog, that some people think is the Grim. I know that your nickname at school was "Padfoot". When I first met you properly when I was thirteen, I wanted to kill you.'

Harry was relieved to see that Sirius' head was slowly looking up to him, in disbelief and amazement of how much Harry knew about their relationship. Harry, however, continued his tirade of their few happenings together.

'Hermione and I rescued you and Buckbeak the Hippogriff with a time turner that she was only supposed to use to get to lessons; Ron couldn't come, he had a broken foot from when you accidentally broke it by dragging him and Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail, in his rat form, into the tunnel under the Whomping Willow, that leads to the Shrieking Shack. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Luna and I all brok into the Department of Mysteries to try and save you, because of a vision that Voldemort planted in my head. The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number twelve, Grimmauld Place. You used to keep Remus Lupin company every full moon in your school years, and probably after too, but I never asked you that before you died. You once tricked Severus Snape into going down to the Shrieking Shack one full moon -'

'All right! All right! I believe you!'

Sirius was now standing, and so was Harry, though he could not remember for the life of him how he had gotten to standing up. Sirius looked at Harry with ravenous eyes, looking at him properly for the first time, since they had met again after fourteen, long, long years, and Harry feasted his eyes hungrily upon his Godfather's face because he was undoubtedly going to fade away from existence sometime soon; this was far too good to last …

'It's really you, isn't it?' Sirius said, with an expression etched upon his face that was something akin to complete and utter astonishment. 'I don't know how, but … it's really you … Harry.'

Harry nodded, and they both stepped forward, perhaps for an embrace that was so very long coming, eagerly anticipated on Harry's part, but never truly believing that it would arrive in this shape or form, but Harry would never know, as a high-pitched squealing noise, or sound, came from the doorway, and flung itself at Harry's legs.

'Daddy!'

James was jumping up and down, and hugging Harry's leg in only the way a child can, with the utmost amount of ferocity and love.

Harry chuckled, and hoisted James up onto his side, where James babbled and pulled at Harry's hair and glasses, like some kind of demented monkey, as if he was trying to climb atop Harry's head. Harry, however, was watching a considerably shell-shocked Sirius, his mouth dangling wide and open as he began to comprehend the fact that his previously fifteen year old Godson now had a son of his own. His mouth was opening and closing like a fairground attraction, mouthing the same word over and over; _son_, _son_, _son_, _son_ …

'James!'

A shriek came from an upper floor, followed by cry of, '_Mummy_!', and two sets of footsteps, one lot heavier than that of the other, the lighter pair of feet happily jumping and skipping down the stairs.

'Uh oh.' James muttered, hiding his face into Harry's chest as his mother came in, holding a sleepy but angry looking one year old Lily, and a red eyed and crying Albus clinging onto her free hand and arm. Ginny looked considerably harassed and harried, her bright red, long hair messed up and all over the place as she struggled to juggle three young children.

'James! What have I _told_ you about stealing Albus' toys when he's playing with them? You ask, and you say _please. And_ you've woken Lily up from her nap, why - _Sirius_?'

Her chocolate brown eyes went wide as she saw who else occupied her Living Room other than her husband, of whom she looked surprised to see anyway, and her eldest son.

'Ginny …' Harry said, wanting to explain.

'_Ginny_?' Sirius said, in disbelief.

'Harry …' Ginny said, turning to her husband questioningly.

'Sirius -' Harry said, once again attempting to explain.

'Harry?' Sirius said, turning to him.

'_Sirius_?' Ginny said again, looking at him and blinking her eyes owlishly.

'Daddy!' Exclaimed Albus, running to his father, with the innocence that only a child of three could possess irrevocably.

* * *

**- I have officially gone mental with typing this story. THANK YOU! So many reviews for last chapter, it was unbelievable! Thank you so much!  
****By the way.. anybody notice the little 'Shrek Two, Happily Ever After' tribute in there? I just thought it was funny. Meh. Enjoy!**

**- SpellMugwump97**

**Lupinesence- **Thank you! Hope you like this one.

**dreams823- **Thank _you_ for reviewing! There's a little taster of that in this, as you can see. Hope you liked it:)

**errew- **Here it is! I hope that I didn't take to long to update, I'm neglecting my other stories to write this, but it's so additive! Thank you. I know, I love Teddy! Me neither, you know, I'm almost reading this with you, I'm never too sure what's going to happen next, really. I have a rough idea, but, you know.. I hope you liked it!:)

**READINGhearts17- **Me too! I would write it from his perspective, but I don't think that it would be good to keep chopping and changing perspectives in a story. It just confuses everything, for everyone, the readers and the writer. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter:)

**kgryfferinclawpuff98- ***virtual high five*. Wow.. five! Not that I can say anything about late nights.. _at all_. Thank you so much for reviewing, especially at five in the morning! I hope you liked this chappie.

**Loves to read books- **I like happy dances;D I hope this chapter wasn't too long of a wait. I really shouldn't neglect my other stories:S Anyway, i hope you enjoyed this chapter:)

**cookyc- **Thank you! I hope you liked this chapter.

**UntalentedArtist- **You cried? Wow. Didn't know I could do that:S I hope it wasn't in a bad way! Glad you like this! Yes, I completely agree, Sirius is amazing! Enjoy!

**AskKnightPotterite- **Here you are, certainly;D

**Mrh99- **Tadaa! Hope it's all right. Pleasure's all yours! I hope that you enjoy reading this chapter.

**page-394-always1- **Same! I love when authors do that! They're great to hear.. just not _necessarily_ suitable for hearing whilst you're eating dinner, you know? Yeah, PC is 'Police Constable', over here in England anyway:) Yeah, I completely know what you mean with 'surprise' graphic stuff -.- Urgh. Does my head in. People can write it, sure, just please rate it correctly, you know? Argh! JK Rowling didn't go all graphic with all of that stuff, and I'm glad she didn't. It would ruin the books and how sophisticated the language she uses in it is. Sorry. Too many 'Of Mice And Men' English essays and analysis' :'( I hate that book so much right now! Yeah, Professor Lockhart has always made me chuckle, he's just so cringey, that he's so funny, you know? Ahh, in the hospital in the Order Of The Phoenix! LOL. Thank you! I try so hard to make Harry stay , Harry, so it's great to get some recognition for it:') YES. Yes, I am bringing back some bad dudes. We do need _some_ action! I want Auror Harry. Know any of those sorts of fics, by any chance? I love them so much, but there's hardly any! Anyway, as pointed out in various points in the book, (_please_ don't ask me to list where they are!) only Voldemort's inner circle has the Dark Mark. So, that leaves plenty of Death Eater's to return. Oh, God. And Muggles! Like Frank. Aww:'( I loved that guy! Poor dude. Anyway, the Ministry is going to be in shambles! *Evil cackle*. I'm in a dramatic mood, at the moment. I'm not putting as much effort as usual into doing these, as it's.. nine minutes to eleven at night here, and it will probably get ot longer than that by the time I finish these off:S Meh. I'm happy and excited because I'M GOING TO THE HARRY POTTER STUDIO TOURS IN ABOUT THREE WEEKS! AND I'M GOING TO THE OLYMPICS IN AUGUST! Woo! *Mad happy jig*. Thank you! I did get an evil moment, when I thought; _hmm, maybe they could be impostors.. MUAHAHAHHAHAHAA_! But then I didn't. Because I wanted to be nice. And I really didn't want to complicate everything:/ Late nights:( Argh, I'm such a night owl! I promise that I'll go to bed soon, as soon as this is uploaded. PINKY PROMISE! I hope you do that where ever you live! Please say you do! Thank you. I worked hard on Ol' Sluggy. He just makes me laugh, much like Lockhart.. maybe even more? I don't know. Chuckle. Yeah, I thought Harry would have given Teddy the map. Although JK said once that Harry just kept it, and didn't give it to anybody, I wanted him to give it to Teddy, a fellow Marauder's son, like you said. Besides, there's plenty enough of a gap to give it to Teddy, keep it for a couple of years after he leaves, and then give it to James ect. And so on, and so forth. I mean, Teddy needs something of his dad's like Harry got, right? It's not nice or fair otherwise. That was suggested by another reviewer, not getting truth serum, because apparently, it's been used loads. So, I mixed it up a little. And I thought that I would infuriate Harry by forcing him to have a pointless trip to a lesson with Slughorn, the man that he has tirelessly worked hard to avoid for eleven years, teaching:D Thank you! I put so much effort into Harry.. or maybe he just flows naturally? I guess, suppose I just picture the scene, then have a little look and niggle into Harry's mind, to see how Harry would react. Wait.. is that creepy?:S Long reviews are cool! Long response's too:S No, no, I love your reviews. They're amazing! And so fun to read, and informative! I know! Sirius!:'( Thank you! Please, keep reviewing, they're so lovely!:')

**MissMarauderette13- **I'm afraid I'm not going to tell you that, just yet;D You will find out soon, though! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about them, or Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody:) Hope the update wasn't too long, and thank you I really hope that you enjoyed this update!:)


	7. A Red Interrogation

**CHAPTER 7**

_A Red Interrogation_

* * *

'You - you married _Ginny_?'

Sirius was still looking as though he had just been clubbed over the head with a broomstick, talking with the utmost surprise and shock at the fact that Harry and Ginny had gotten married, as well as had three children.

'And had _kids_?' Sirius continued weakly, gawping at James, Albus and Lily in a growing expression on wonderment and surprise.

James had emerged from Harry's chest, and was looking at Sirius with curious eyes, still tugging on Harry's hair persistently, whilst Albus clung like a monkey onto Harry's left leg, clutching at his robes whilst staring at this new intruder to his little world. Lily was unknowing and now burying her small head into the crevice between Ginny's neck and shoulder, her dark red hair a slight contrast to Ginny's bright red.

Ignoring Sirius' words, Ginny rose her wand and centred it on Sirius, her face furious and her eyes wild as she looked at Harry's Godfather, evidently thinking that this somebody was here to harm her family.

If there was one thing that Harry knew about Ginny, it was that she was even more protective of her family than that of a lioness and her cubs.

Ginny spoke slowly and harshly to Sirius, who looked considerably petrified, in a hissing voice that made Albus and James try to bury themselves in their father's clothing once more, and Harry cringe slightly;

'_Who are you_?'

Sirius backed up into a large bookcase behind him, and a book that had been precariously placed on the edge of a shelf flipped over and hit Sirius painfully on the head, though Sirius himself did not seen to notice in the slightest.

'Erm -' Ginny ignored Sirius' high and scared voice, and instead turned to Harry, who stepped back two paces, Albus squealing and giggling at the ride, completely unaware of the happenings occurring in the room.

'Harry! Who is this?'

Deciding that it was probably for the best to tell Ginny outright, before the situation could get out of control, or she could accuse him of lying to her, Harry spoke hesitantly.

'Well - it's, er … Sirius. Sirius Black.'

Ginny let out a growl of frustration, and kneaded her forehead with the hand that her wand was clutched in a vice like death grip with, for her other hand and arm was supporting the now sleeping peacefully, and completely unawares Lily.

Suddenly, Ginny's wand turned on Harry.

'_Who are you and what have you done with my husband_?'

'What?' Harry yelped, and he took another two steps backwards. 'I _am_ your husband - Harry Potter!' Harry raised both of his hands in a surrendering and defenceless pose, and he was able to due to the fact that James had just a previous moment before, decided to use Harry as a climbing frame once again, by clutching his neck and dangling from it whilst giggling madly.

'If you're Harry, then where can the old Order of the Phoenix Headquarters be found?'

Seeing that Ginny was clutching her wand so tightly that her knuckles were turning white, Harry thought it best to answer as hastily as possible.

'Number Twelve Grimmauld Place! I inherited it from my Godfather - Sirius Black!'

Harry cringed as Ginny's face softened, but was quickly replaced with a harsh and ruthless expression, not too uncommon to be found on her face whilst she used to play Quidditch, as her gaze was suddenly directed towards the cowering and wandless Sirius. Harry guessed that it was Sirius' mention in Harry's hasty proof that he was himself that spurred Ginny on to Sirius, and his direction.

'Ginny -' Harry tried to say, but Ginny ignored him and shouted something else.

'Expelliarmus!'

Harry sighed, as Ginny's face turned frustrated and angry.

'Why won't it - Expelliarmus! _Expelliarmus_!'

'Ginny,' Harry said, gently taking her upper arm, and steering her fierce gaze away from his Godfather, and towards, regretfully, himself, 'He is who he says he is. He's Sirius.'

Ginny looked at him through eyes that were, behind the masks and facades of anger, scared and worried.

'It's why he's got no wand.' Harry said softly, and Ginny's eyes looked deeply into his, before rounding on Sirius once more.

'Tell me something that only Sirius Black would know!' She jabbed her wand for extra emphasis, and Sirius edged slightly back, as far as he could, as if he wanted to sink into the bookcase that he was currently pressing his back against.

'Er -' Sirius looked over to Harry worriedly, and Harry just looked at him blankly. Sirius, finding no respite in Harry's eyes or facial expression, swallowed quite audibly, and looked around the room contemplatively, before answering Ginny's question with a small voice, that Harry found quite surprising. Harry did not associate a timid nature with his Godfather.

'I was the Potter's secret keeper. I was put into Azkaban for twelve years, because I was framed for their and thirteen Muggles' murders by Peter Pettigrew.' The name of the traitor sparked some sort of confidence in Sirius, because after that, his words got stronger, and so did the solidity of his proof of his identity.

'I got blasted off of the black family tapestry when I was sixteen, because I ran away to your Grandparents', Harry,' Sirius locked eyes with Harry at that point. 'You and Hermione rescued me from the Dementor's Kiss by using Buckbeak the Hippogriff and Hermione's time-turner; she'd been using it to get to her lesson's all of that year. You called me Snuffles in letters, just in case the Ministry intercepted them. My nickname at school was Pad -'

'SIRIUS!'

Harry's head whipped around so quickly that he almost heard his neck crick painfully. He only got a slight glance at his wife's surprisingly tearful, apprehensive, worried and joyful face, as she plonked a dazed Lily onto the floor, and positively charged at a confused and, quite frankly, terrified looking Sirius, lunging at him and embracing him in a hug that made it quite certain that she was Molly Weasley's daughter.

Harry turned his eyes away, and focused on _his_ own daughter, as she looked blearily around the room and said 'Mummy?' with half closed eyes.

'James, can you get off of Daddy's neck now?' Harry said. James was now swinging from his neck and giggling with some sort of delirious happiness whilst doing it, and though Harry loved seeing his son this happy, Harry feared that his neck would eventually wear away with the strain of it.

'But Daddy …' James whined, and he swung even harder and heavily upon Harry's weary neck. Harry might have previously feared that James would age him prematurely, but now, it was definite.

'James.' Harry said with a serious tone, and James ceased his incessant swinging, but still dangled from his father's neck like some sort of insane necklace. Harry tried a different tack.

'Albie, you look like you're having fun down there.'

Harry swung his leg, and a giggle sounded, and he heard a faint squeal. He took that as a very enthusiastic yes, and evidently, James did too, as he looked down angrily at his younger brother and dropped down to the floor, to clutch onto Harry's other leg, not wanting to miss out on anything that his brother had.

A silent cheer echoing in his head over his victory, Harry, with his arms now thankfully free, scooped up his daughter in a practiced fashion, somehow managing to stay balanced whilst doing so with two excitable, and now arguing toddlers clutching his shins in death grips.

Covered and crawling with children, Harry finally raised his head to look in the direction of Ginny and Sirius. He had not noticed, but they had been suspiciously quiet as of late. Harry had been far too preoccupied with gathering all three of his children up together, to notice or concentrate on his wife and Godfather.

Ginny was wiping away the tears that were slowly dripping from her eyes with an watery annoyed look on her face, whilst Sirius was staring at Harry, who was desperately trying not to topple over onto the floor with James and Albus currently having an argument, and Lily now active and trying hard to escape from Harry's clutches.

'Oh Merlin …' Sirius muttered, staring at Harry and his children.

Ginny's eyes were now dry and she was glancing between the two men with an apprehensive, but stubborn look upon her face.

'I - I think Lily needs a nappy change.' Ginny said weakly, and she looked at Harry with heartfelt eyes as he handed their daughter over to her. Harry smiled slightly at Ginny, to try and communicate without words how grateful he was for her and for her presence at this particular moment in time. She smiled slightly back, her expression still watery from tears, and she nodded her head in some kind of silent acknowledgement that they had established together. Harry was eternally grateful that Ginny understood him; _got_ him, so completely.

There was a moment of silence between Godfather and Godson, as they looked at each other. Both were unbelieving; _how_ on earth was this situation even possible? Whirring questions blossomed in Harry's head, but before he could delve any deeper into them, into his thoughts, into the recesses of his cavernous mind, James voiced a question that Harry was, quite frankly, surprised that he had not even put forward yet.

'Daddy, who's this?'

Harry knelt down to both of his sons, both looking curiously between himself and a dazed looking Sirius.

'You know how I told you about my Godfather?'

At their blank looks, Harry sighed slightly, and brought up something that was much more likely to jog the memories of a four year old and a three year old's brains.

'The man that can turn into a dog? Snuffles?'

James and Albus' eyes lit up, and they looked at Sirius with a dawning look of a predator that had just seen it's newest prey.

'Well, this is my Godfather, Sirius.' Harry finished rather lamely, knowing that his words did not equate to even a quarter of what they were all experiencing at the moment.

Sirius had come _back_ from the _dead_.

He had not simply returned from completing the shopping.

James began edging hungrily towards an apprehensive looking Sirius, whereas Albus clung onto Harry's leg once more, and looked at him with a confused frown, which left Harry in no doubt whatsoever that he too had worn that expression for many a time.

'But … you said that your God … Godfudda was with Nanny and Grandad, and Teddy's Mummy and Daddy, and they're not here.'

Harry cursed his own genes. They were already emerging, and Albus was only just turned three.

'Yeah, but … Sirius is back, okay? Like … like you know when Mummy had to go away, and then she came back again with Lily? That's like Sirius. He's just come back, some other people might come back too, like Teddy's Mummy and Daddy.'

Albus' face brightened with understanding, until it darkened again.

'So,' Albus said slowly, looking at Sirius with doubtful eyes, 'your Godfudda has another Lily with him, too? Because I don't want another Lily, she always cries and poo's -'

'No, no,' Harry said hastily, 'Sirius hasn't got another Lily with him.' Harry searched the room helplessly for some guidance, but to no avail. 'He's just back, okay?' Harry said weakly. 'I'll tell you when you're older.' Harry resignedly finished, knowing by Albus' annoyed and confused expression that there would be much pestering happening later.

'Hi! I'm James.'

James had manoeuvred himself across the room with a surprising amount of stealth for a four year old, to where Sirius was standing; still in front of and by the bookshelf, but now staring down at the little entity that was now pulling at his ragged robes.

'I'm gonna be a profa … profes … pro Chaser in Quidditch when I'm older, just like Mummy.'

Harry looked up at Sirius, who was now looking down at the little boy, babbling on about the benefits of each Quidditch position, and Harry saw that Sirius was looking down at James in shock, and what surprised Harry even more, was the expression of mild amused shock flitter across the face of his apparently dead Godfather.

'Harry,' Sirius said slowly, raising his head, raising his eyes to meet Harry's, 'I don't know how to tell you this, but I think you have produced a mini Prongs.'

Harry grinned, but it faded as a silvery cat slinked through the living room wall, and spoke in a panicked voice hardly ever heard coming out of the mouth by Minerva McGonagall.

'Order of the Phoenix meeting, in the Headmistress' Study at Hogwarts. Please arrive with haste.'

Harry exchanged worried looks with Sirius, but in his head, his brain was already concocting and formulating a plan of action for the two of them to take.

Evidently, Harry's old head of house was in desperate need of help, with the people at Hogwarts that had returned. Harry had not even told Sirius about who had died, what had happened in the years that he had been dead. Dumbledore, Lupin, Tonks, Fred and Colin were completely unaware that Sirius had returned. Well, so was everybody else in the world, other than Harry and his family. Harry doubted that Colin was even aware that Sirius was innocent, and had been unjustly convicted.

But, Harry felt that it was now the point to reveal Sirius to the rest of the conjoining Order.

It was now or never.

'Sirius, you're making too much noise!'

Harry and Sirius shuffled through the halls of Hogwarts, and Harry could only thank the heavens that the time for all pupils to be in their Common Room's had been and gone.

'Well, I'm _sorry_,' Sirius huffily whispered back, 'but this damn cloak is a slightly smaller fit than it was when I was thirteen, and can I just remind you that I'm now - wait, how old am I?'

Harry rolled his eyes and reached out his hand to grasp the shoulder of the Invisibility-Cloaked man and steer him to the left, towards the Headmistress' Study.

'Don't roll your eyes at me, I'm still older than you, even before I kicked the bucket!'

Harry tried hard to suppress a smile at his Godfather's words, as they reached the large stone Griffin.

Harry groaned as he realised that he did not have the password. Annoyed, he was just about to start randomly naming names and words that he thought McGonagall would use as her password, before a calm, deep, rumblingly reverberating voice echoed down the hall behind him, and though the voice's owner did not know it yet, Sirius too.

'Triumph.' Kingsley said, strolling towards the Griffin and Harry and Sirius were standing in front of.

'I take it you've been called too, Harry?' Kingsley said, looking expectantly at him as he walked towards a stricken Harry and his invisible Godfather.

Harry was lost for words. He had not expected, or anticipated somebody to arrive so soon, and therefore, he was feeling inwardly flustered at the arrival of Kingsley, not knowing, momentarily, what to say or do. His arms swung awkwardly by his sides as he tried to coax his mind into normal thought process, and Kingsley looked at him oddly, as he mounted the Griffin's staircase.

'Um … yeah.' Harry managed to stutter out.

'Are you all right?' Kingsley questioned, his expression clearly curious and concerned.

'Course.' Harry said, more definitely this time, trying to change his demeanour slightly, so that he appeared less guilty.

Kingsley peered at Harry worriedly, and Harry half smiled back, his arms ceasing their swinging. Evidently, Kingsley reached a judgement on the current state of Harry's mind, as he nodded briskly, and continued up the staircase, glancing, intrigued, at Harry over his shoulder, until they both disappeared from each other's sights.

Harry waited for a few seconds, counting in his head, waiting for Kingsley to emerge. When he did not, Harry released the tension that was holding in his shoulders, rolled them, and let out a long breath.

'Some Auror you are, Potter.' He muttered to himself under his breath, but that breath was almost lost when he saw Sirius' floating and suspended head.

'Jesus, Sirius!' Harry hissed, glaring at his Godfather as he struggled to wrestle the Invisibility Cloak back over the top of Sirius' head. Sirius, however, was resisting, even despite his shocked face.

'Kingsley's _old_.' He stated, in a dazed voice.

'Watch it, that's my boss you're talking about.' Harry said back to him, still struggling to force the cloak back over Sirius' head.

Sirius' heads shot up, and he looked at Harry directly, his arms dropping and dangling loosely by his sides. Harry shoved the Invisibility Cloak back over his head with haste, and began dragging him up the staircase to McGonagall's Study.

'Your what?'

'_Boss_.' Harry whispered as quietly as possible, trying to get the "shut up and move quietly" message across to Sirius.

'But, you're the Head Auror, there's nobody high - _no_. No way. Kingsley's the Minister? The Minister of Magic? _Kingsley_?'

Sirius began to laugh uproariously, and Harry stopped, turned, and glared in the general direction of where he presumed Sirius' head lingered.

'Sirius, if you do _not_ shut up and come upstairs quietly, I swear to God I _will_ arrest you once it is publicly known that you have somehow defied the natural order of things, and come back to life.'

There was a moment's pause, of what Harry thought was contemplation on Sirius' part, and then he heard a quiet and sulky '_Fine_.' come from the place that he thought Sirius was.

Shaking his head and squaring his shoulders, Harry rose one step, stopped, and turned back to Sirius once more.

'What is it _now_ -'

'Shh!' Harry hurriedly said. 'Once we go in, do _not_ make any noise, stay right behind me when we're walking in through the door, and go and stand right in a dark corner somewhere in the room where you won't be seen, even if you weren't wearing the Cloak. Okay?'

Not waiting for a reply, Harry hastily towed Sirius up the remaining steps, rubbed the palm that was not occupied on his trousers, and strode in through the open door, trying to feel and radiate triple the amount of confidence that he felt at that moment in time.

* * *

**- It's here, it's finally here! I was going to make this chapter much longer, but then I thought that the, *cough*, _reunion_ scene deserved, near enough, it's own chapter.  
I'm not going to be replying to reviews in this. It's literally twenty to midnight here in England, and I need my sleep for my second day of work experience. However, I will still be replying to your wonderful reviews via PM, and if I miss you out or make a mistake in different reviews, then I am very, very sorry. Replies to reviews will probably come back to normal once I update at normal times. Or, maybe not, I may prefer it this way, and t's probably much more logical.  
Anyway. I appreciate all of your amazing reviews, and I really, _really_ hope you enjoy this chapter. Harry/Sirius banter and Potter children cuteness is running amok all over it!**

**- SpellMugwump97**


	8. A Not So Orderly Meeting

**CHAPTER 8**

_A Not So Orderly Meeting_

* * *

'Sorry I'm so late.' Harry said gruffly, as he walked into the study considerably more confidently then he felt.

The study had not changed drastically at all, since the time that Harry had walked into it just after the Battle. Evidently, Snape had not altered much, ironically enough due to his main reasons for being there in the first place.

McGonagall had not made many alterations either. Gone were the whirring instruments and strange contraptions that Dumbledore had placed around the room, some of which were missing long before McGonagall's arrival, and Harry was ashamed to admit that he himself had thrown across the room, and they had subsequently smashed.

There were other smaller things that made no noise, but made Harry immediately think of his old Professor and Head of House. A bright ginger cat was purring contentedly on a deep-set window ledge, and various books and magazines that more often than not had something to do with Transfiguration.

There were lots of different plush chairs littered about the office, and most of them were a deep, rich red, and they were made of some sort of velvety material.

Some of the portraits that stubbornly pretended to be fast asleep with flickering and peeking eyes, and overly exaggerated snores, glanced up, as they always did, when Harry walked into the room.

There were several ex Order of the Phoenix members that were crowded into the study; some of which, bar only a few, that Harry had never met, though he did think that he recognised some of them from the Ministry. Many, if not all of them were talking avidly, and excitedly, clearly wondering about what was going on, to have them summoned here.

Dedalus Diggle was in conference with an equally short wizard of the same height as he, and Harry had the distinct impression that they may have been related; after all, how many wizards out there had the same sort of stature as Dedalus? Next to him was Hestia, in a deep conversation with another unknown person, and next to them were very familiar faces to Harry; Bill and Fleur, Bill looking less scared than ever after his attack and Fleur looking as radiant ever, both jovially talking with an apprehensive looking Percy. Percy, although an honourable member of the Order, as came with anybody of the Weasley surname, was receiving a great amount of concentrated glares from those that were not his family. Percy was clearly trying his best to ignore them.

George was standing and talking in a loud manner to Lee Jordan over on the opposite side of the room to Percy, Bill and Fleur. Next to them was an anxious looking Hermione, and an exasperated looking Ron, who was rolling his eyes and looking forlornly at the floor and his shoes as Hermione elbowed him hard for doing so.

Kingsley was standing beside a disgruntled looking Mundungus Fletcher, who was looking both nervous and grumpy at somehow being situated by the Minister of Magic, despite the fact that he had known the man for years. Kingsley was looking distinctly amused at Mundungus, and Harry too, always found it funny when he somehow caught Mundungus in the act of some sort of Black Market trading down Knockturn Alley. Mundungus always seemed to be Harry's oldest and best friend in those instances.

Mr and Mrs Weasley were standing beside Ron and Hermione, with Elphias Doge standing, looking both thoughtful and vacant beside them. Mrs Weasley casting annoyed looks towards Mundungus, and Mr Weasley discreetly toying with a Muggle tin opener that he had previously withdrew from his robe pocket, oblivious to his wife's unhappy squawks.

Hagrid was crammed into the corner of the room, and waved, beaming, at Harry as he entered, knocking an annoyed portrait askew as Harry returned a weak smile.

'Harry.' McGonagall said from the front of her desk, at the head of the circle of crammed people. All turned to look at Harry as he entered.

Harry glanced to the left quickly, hoping to determine the fact that Sirius was indeed present. Eyes scouring the area just behind him, Harry looked for some sign of movement - and there it was, a minute movement of a trinket box that was placed with a corner slightly overhanging off of the edge of an old, rickety end table. It had moved ever so slightly that a person that was not looking for the movement would have indefinitely missed it, but for the eye of a trained Auror looking for such happenings …

'What delayed you?' McGonagall said, looking at him concernedly as he edged forward, all eyes in the room now on him, all mundane chatter stopping abruptly at his entry.

'There's somebody else.' Harry murmured into his old Professor's ear, and her eyes widened in surprise.

'_Who_?' She whispered harshly back to him, looking at him with weary eyes, that were somehow gleaming at the same time.

Harry raised a slight eyebrow at her, and she gasped, a hand flying to her lips.

'Not -' She exclaimed loudly, before quieting down. '_Not Sirius_!'

Harry nodded minutely, and she offered a watery smile. Harry could not help but think that it was, too, containing weariness.

'I'm … glad for you, Harry.' She said, and Harry was touched; it was not often that the hardened Professor McGonagall softened.

Harry smiled and nodded, before edging back to the crowd, to join Ron, Hermione, and Mr and Mrs Weasley.

'Harry, where's Ginny?' Mrs Weasley said, peering around Harry as if hoping to see Ginny randomly appear into the room.

'At home with the kids, there was nowhere to drop them off.' Harry replied.

'Oh Harry,' Mrs Weasley said consolingly, 'I could have missed the meeting to take care of them, it wouldn't have mattered,'

Harry had no time to reply before Ron spoke.

'Our's are at Hermione's parents, probably driving them mental as we speak.' Ron said, grinning and smug.

'Some people don't have that luxury, _do they Ron_?' Hermione said bitingly, elbowing her husband hard on the arm and waiting for him to realise what he had said.

Looking confused, Ron stared at Harry, before comprehension overcame his features.

'Sorry mate,' Ron grimaced, looking apologetically at Harry, 'I didn't mean it like that -'

'It's all right,' Harry cut in, grinning slyly, 'We'll just drop them off at your's next time, I'm sure you'll all have _loads_ of fun.'

Ron paled dramatically, and Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

'You know why we're all here, don't you?' Hermione said, looking at Harry disapprovingly, as if she knew that he was keeping a large secret from them all.

'Might do,' Harry replied smugly, and Hermione huffed, but she had no time to reply before McGonagall spoke, nor had Harry any time to continue, even if he had wanted to.

Harry looked behind him, where a dark and apparently empty corner of the room was, and he saw a tiny snuffbox float up into the air. Evidently, that was were Sirius resided, and Harry's Godfather was trying to alert Harry to his presence in the forgotten corner.

Harry nodded so slightly towards the space that his Godfather lay in that any other person in the room could not have possibly seen it, and then Harry shifted his footing so that he was in a defensive pose in front of the corner.

It was so likely that Sirius would do something rash in the heat of the moment, that Harry thought that he had better be prepared and on the defensive.

'I have called this meeting due to specific … events that have occurred recently.' McGonagall surveyed the people in the room with hawk like eyes, before continuing. 'There is no easy, or truly believable way to express these events with words alone.' A long pause echoed throughout the room, and there were equally as many intrigued faces to those that were sceptical.

'A certain number of people have returned, from a place that no person ever has before.' McGonagall looked lost for words as her eyes passed over the congregation gathered.

Harry would not find it an easy, or an enjoyable job to inform those that had lost so much in a war, things of which could never be returned, that they had defied all logic and normalcy and had indeed returned. He knew from personal experience, though he had not had very much time at all to savour it, that that was a shock that even the most level headed, sturdy, calm person would fail to contain their emotions.

Harry, making his decision on both the fact that McGonagall looked lost for words and his own need to blurt out the new information before it was expelled from his mouth in a less than savoury manner, edged towards the Headmistress, and spoke.

'What we mean to say, is,' Harry paused, and looked around at the sea of expectant and serious faces, 'some people from during the war have … returned from the grave.'

Silence overflowed the room as all of it's occupants took the time to ingest the current situation. There were confused faces, angry faces, teary faces and all manner of other facial expression that Harry knew that there was no point in even bothering to try and distinguish them.

Then, all hell broke loose.

'_What_?'

'You - you can't be serious -'

'Er … Harry …'

'Are you hammered?'

'You're joking. You've got to be joking -'

'_Honestly_ Potter …'

'You can't be serious, man!'

'Nobody can return from the dead, that's quite preposterous -'

There were raging voices from all ends of the room, storming at Harry from all directions. Eve the portraits were joining in, chiming into the meeting with shouts of annoyance and disdain, the most notable a greasy sounding voice that Harry was certain was his old Potions Professor, encapsulating his slippery personality for years to come.

It was the last comment, however, that made Harry finally put his foot down, amongst the evident riot in the Headmistress' Study.

'I've survived the Killing Curse twice.' Harry said quietly and calmly, arms crossed almost defensively over his torso, wand clutched tightly by his hand. 'I've died before, and I'm standing here today. What makes you think we're lying? What makes you think that it's impossible? _I'm _impossible. Theoretically, I should have been dead more than two decade ago.'

The air seemed to have been sucked out of the very room as all paused at Harry's quiet words. Pale faces lined the place, and even the portraits had elected to be silent as they watched the controlled, careful outburst from Harry. The only difference that Harry could find, as he scanned the small crowd, was the red face of one of the unknown wizards that had congregated, who was standing alongside annoyed and shifty looked Elphias Doge. Clearly, it had been him that had shouted the offending comment.

All eyes were unfailingly, unwaveringly, trained upon Harry, before a hesitant and weary voice spoke up from behind him.

'He's right.'

Sirius had emerged from his hiding place, looking doubtful, apologetic and apprehensive as he did so.

Harry swore under his breath.

'_Seriously_?' Harry hissed waspishly towards Sirius, as he swivelled around to face his Godfather head on. 'You pick _now_?'

Sirius shrugged unhelpfully, and looked back into the room, his eyes suddenly growing panicked.

Harry whipped around, to find both himself and Sirius at the wand points of several of the Order members. In fact, only McGonagall and Kingsley did not see fit to threaten Harry and Sirius with their wands at the present time. Harry, in all honesty, felt like banging his head against a wall in frustration.

'Who are you?' Ron hissed, his searing gaze pinpointed on Sirius, following each minute movement that he made. Ron began stepping forwards slightly, gaining distance on what he thought was the impostor.

'Ron -' Harry tried to say, edging in front of the wand and Sirius, hoping to defend Sirius with his own body if it came to it.

'Harry.' Ron stated, his glare now focused on Harry, though it was a different type of look; it was one that spoke of sympathy and to be cruel to be kindness, not outright hate and confusion mixed into one. 'This man, this _impostor_,' Ron continued, and Harry thought that he could almost feel the venom through the words, Ron made his disgust so palpable, 'is not Sirius. He might look like him, act like him, but it's not him.'

This kind of anger from Ron was unusual. Ron had a laid back personality, and despite the occasional lapses in that trait, like the two occasions when Harry was fourteen and then seventeen, of which they had never spoke of since, Ron was not one to start an argument, nor was he one to get angry so easily as he was at the current moment.

Harry supposed that the sudden volatile anger from Ron was due to him being quite sensitive about deaths from the war. However much Ron might deny it, however many "sensitivity is girly" comments he would ever make, it was true, to himself and all those that knew him well.

'Harry, you're the bloody Head Auror! You can't seriously be falling for -'

'Ron, shut up.'

Harry interrupted Ron, ignoring the affronted look that was shot at him.

He was desperate, how was he supposed to prove to them all that Sirius was who he appeared to be?

Harry glanced quickly over his shoulder, to see a pale and nervous looking Sirius, who looked both determined and on edge.

Panicking innately, a feeling surprisingly common for Harry, despite being trained for this type of pressure and now training people to cope with it, Harry shoved his scrabbling hands into the pockets of his robes, endlessly poking and prodding, trying to find something that might remotely help his cause -

And his left hand hit some old and weathered parchment, buried deep in the confines of an inner pocket of his cloak.

'Look at this,' Harry said boldly, thrusting the still activated map into the limp hands of Ron, ignoring the startled and confused whispers of those around them. Harry _needed_ Ron to understand, he needed a friend on his side; even McGonagall was weary.

'It never lies, does it?' Harry asked Ron forcefully, and at his friend's hesitant nod, he continued. 'So, if Sirius' name is on there, standing where Sirius _actually is_,' Harry gestured to where his Godfather was standing, 'it must be Sirius, yes?'

Ron looked Harry in the eye, and Harry could already see that the battle was virtually won. It was clear to Harry to see through Ron's eyes that Ron believed that if he was putting this much faith into something, and was willing to prove it, face to face, then it had to be the truth. They had been friends for far too long to doubt that.

Ron nodded dumbly once more, and proceeded to open and scan the map of his own accord, with no prompting from Harry or anybody else at all.

Harry watched as Ron's eyes perused the weary parchment at a sedate but careful pace, before finally stopping at the spot that Harry automatically knew was where their dots were placed.

Ron's face would have been comical, had the situation not been so dire. His expression spoke of plain shock as he read the names situated in the room, the colour drained out of his face, the freckles that had been so vivid throughout their school years that had eventually faded slightly now completely disappeared underneath the cloak of utter shock.

'Sirius …' Ron murmured, his hands limply dropping the Marauder's Map to the floor. His eyes slowly traced up the landscape of the study, before resting on Sirius, who seemed to be looking much more relieved, but also much more apprehensive. He was, however, standing steady and strong, portraying that he was every bit the Gryffindor that he was destined to be.

'It's actually him … Sirius …' Ron said disbelievingly to the room, ignoring the gasps and concerned looks. 'The map … it never lies … Merlin …'

Never before had Harry seen Ron so utterly gobsmaked. He was, in fact, about to comment on it, before a shriek came in the direction of Hermione.

'Harry …' She said in a wobbly kind of voice, as if she were of the edge of tears, 'there are … what -'

It seemed Hermione had spotted another collection of dots, somewhere nearby.

'Mr Black is not the only person to have … returned.' McGonagall cut in sharply, her mind quicker than most in the room's as they watched the scene. Harry shot her a grateful look as he strode over to join his Godfather in the secluded area of the study that was given a particularly wide berth, clapping him on the shoulder as he acknowledged the slight nod that his former Head of House sent him.

'There are others?' Exclaimed a withered old wizard that Harry had not seen in the room before now, but he had the distinct impression from the short, dumpy man that he may have been one of the Order members that offered to collect Harry from the Dursley's when he was fifteen.

'Yes, Atticus, there are others.'

The room retreated into silence for a few seconds, each person absorbed in their own thoughts.

'Who? Who are they?'

Much to Harry's surprise, it was Percy, of all people, speaking up, asking the question that was inevitably on the tip of all present's tongues excepting those that already knew.

McGonagall glanced back towards where Harry and Sirius where standing, and though no eye contact or communication was made, she seemed to have reached a decision.

'I feel that it may be best to show you those people that have returned, rather than explain it to you in words. It is indeed something that we cannot do justice with in simple speech.'

And suddenly, they were there.

Fred, Lupin, though Harry felt he should call him Remus now, it felt more natural, Tonks, Colin and Dumbledore were standing, albeit hesitantly and scared, in the room, watching in an apprehensive silence their family and friends stare at them as if they were not real, not of human flesh and bone, but of some sort of ghost.

Of course, to the previous "remaining" Order members gathered, they _were_ ghosts.

Silence seemed to pass slower than the passage of a snail, each tick of the golden carriage clock atop the fireplace taking an hour to go by.

Nobody dared to move, nobody dared approach the other group, until -

'FREDDIE!'

Mrs Weasley flew across the room, gathering up her long dead son in her comforting arms, crushing him into a warming embrace.

Mr Weasley followed her, as did Percy and then Bill and Fleur, Ron drifting over dazedly too whilst Hermione gathered a startled Colin up in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably, utterly inconsolable.

Kingsley greeted both Tonks and Remus with handshakes and hugs afterwards, and then Sirius walked over to them, exclaiming 'Moony, you _died_?' whilst some of the unknown wizards wondered over to Dumbledore, offering handshakes and well wishing.

All of the other people stood, and watched fondly at the scene, much the same as Harry was doing. It was too beautiful a setting not to.

George stood, watching the scene, with a dazed look on his face, looking as if he was dreaming, his eyes distant as he looked into the face that used to be his, when he was eleven years younger.

Age no longer mattered, in this greeting however.

Fred freed himself from his mother's sobbing clutches, and stood, two feet away from the miles away George, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling; from mischief or emotion Harry could not honestly discern.

'You've let yourself go a bit, Georgie,' Fred said, gazing at his one eared brother fondly, 'you old codger -'

Fred's assessment of his twin was cut off by George running at him full pelt, all inhibitions forgotten as they embraced, as they never thought that they would before.

The moment was beautiful, hugging and joyous laughing, grinning and tears, and Harry hoped that there would be more, many more, moments like this in the future, because if there were, then he could only begin to wonder just how brilliant his life could be if these events occurred more often.

Harry began moving towards the embracing Sirius and Remus, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

'I don't mean to ruin the moment,' Kingsley said, smiling, 'but I really do feel as if there is something of importance that you need to attend to.'

Harry raised an eyebrow, and turned fully towards Kingsley, engaging his attention fully towards the calm man.

'I got Derek Patten to deliver you a file, earlier on today.' Kingsley said, and as if through a distant memory, Harry remembered the morning, and he could not believe that that was only a mere two hours ago … did it really only take that long to change lives?

And then, through the foggy recess' of his mind, he remembered trying to hide Sirius, shepherding him through the Auror Office, trying to get rid of Patten and then throwing the file carelessly into a drawer …

'It had a certain amount of important references to sudden high points of magical power radiating from tiny areas, pinpoints, really, all over the country. There was one in Durrington, Wiltshire … one in Whitechapel, East London … one in Godric's Hollow …'

'What?' Harry said in surprise, looking at Kingsley in shock. 'Godric's Hollow? A magical outburst in Godric's Hollow?'

'That was what the report was about, yes. I was hoping that you would be able to go out and take a look yourself, though. I think you're best qualified, Harry -'

But Harry was already out of the door.

He was an idiot. A _complete idiot_.

A bulging file like that, and he did not even bother flicking through it? I was clearly important. _Obviously_ important.

Because Harry thought he knew what the outbursts were, already. And he was determined to find out, and do so as soon as possible.

* * *

**- This is short and sweet because it's 6:48am in the morning in England and I've stayed up ALL NIGHT. I hope you like this chapter, as well as the way the story is going.  
Fun facts; Wiltshire is the home of the Malfoy's, so you have a pretty good guess as to who was behind that murder, and Whitechapel is the home to the infamous Jack the Ripper murders, of which I have been on the tour there and it is very interesting!  
Thank you and I hope you liked it! I will PM you replies to your reviews, you wonderful people!**

**What did you think of the Opening Ceremony for the London 2012 Olympics****? I thought it was truly brilliant, from the flame to the forty foot Voldemort and JKR.**

**- Spellmugwump97**


	9. The Flower And The Stag

**CHAPTER 9**

_The Flower And The Stag_

* * *

The crack of apparition filled Harry's ears as he landed heavily on the cool ground of, hopefully, somewhere in the village of Godric's Hollow.

Harry stumbled, cursing under his breath, for a few small steps, his arms waving about idiotically in the air as he searched for something to hold him up, to help him balance. His left hand hit something cold, and surprisingly smooth, and he clung onto it like a lifeline.

Once he was steadied, Harry turned around to see his stone, as he realised, saviour, and nearly fell back down to the ground again.

His own face was smiling back at him, complete with the unruly hair and glasses, with his arm around a girl that he presumed was Ginny, though it didn't look very similar, and a little toddler being held by her. It was a boy with identical messy hair, and so it had to be either James or Albus, when they were just a bit younger - Harry would have to have words with Kingsley about this; _surely_ people couldn't go around, erecting statues of people's families, could they? Boy-Who-Lived or not.

And then it hit Harry.

Of _course_ this was not a statue of him. He was in Godric's Hollow. He had been here before, to this exact spot, with Hermione all those years ago. He had spied the tribute from afar, on the once-a-year occasions that he had returned since the end of the war; but he had never actually been this close to the memorial. He had never actually _touched_ it, either.

Breathing hard, Harry managed to tear his eyes away from the face of his father and mother, and the one year old version of himself that looked scarily like his sons all encased in a stone shell. He counted his blessings that nobody was about to see him, one of the mysterious Potter's that lived just outside of the village, appear out of thin air.

Harry had never come to the village square whilst he had been living in the area, though Ginny had. It held far too many memories, and he only ever crossed a small corner of it to turn into the road in which the remains of his parents' and his hiding place was in the fist war.

Looking around the square once more, Harry once again concluded the same thing as he did every time he saw the picturesque place; it remained unchanged and untouched.

There were no longer the fairy lights and snow that had blanketed the place so many years ago, the Christmas Eve that marked the first time that he had ever been to Godric's Hollow - that he could remember, anyway. There was a faint rumble of noise coming from the pub, but not enough to panic Harry in any way, and the shops seemed to be quite quiet, too.

All in all, the quiet and secluded square held no obvious mutations from over the years, untouched by both the radical changes of both the Magical and Muggle worlds.

Shaking his head slightly, trying to shake off both these thoughts and the nerves that were coursing though his veins, Harry began to walk in the direction of the house in which he was supposed to have a proper childhood, a proper home throughout the years.

His feel crunching on the dirt and gravel lane, Harry wondered whether his parents were even alive.

It seemed too good to be true, for them to return. Sirius was already back, after all. Along with Remus and Tonks, Dumbledore, Colin and Fred. Harry didn't want to be greedy. But … James and Al and Lily would have Grandparents. Two more people to spoil them mercilessly. They would all get to meet each other, there would be no more one sided conversations by the graveside, there would be replies, answers, actual people; not just cold marble.

But Harry refused to get his hopes up, before he saw them, his parents, in the flesh. There was never any point in expecting the best things in life, after all, you might as well expect the worst, and then be pleasantly surprised.

Before he knew it, the house in which he was supposed to grow up in throughout his childhood loomed over his frame, casting a somewhat chilling shadow over him, making Harry shivered despite the relatively mild weather in this part of the country.

Harry looked over the small front garden in front of him. It was not as overgrown as it was when he had visited all those years ago on that first Christmas Eve, thanks to Harry's mother-in-law and her vast knowledge of household spells, however, the grass was getting out of control, and the various flowers that littered the place of which Harry had absolutely no clue what their names were, were in competition with some very ugly and very encroaching weeds.

Eyes not bothering to venture upwards, to the crater carved into the roof of the house that had caused so much heartbreak, not willing to linger any more just standing at the front of the cottage, anticipation building with every heartbeat, Harry entered the house that should have been a home, for the first time in thirty years.

The first thing that struck him, once he had pulled open the decaying door that nobody had touched in an age, it creaking and squealing ominously, was the layer of dust that coated the place. Even Harry's footsteps were muffled as he walked, and tiny little puffs of dust that had been collecting over decades floated, disturbed, up into Harry's nostrils, making him want to sneeze and sniff. He held that urge in, however. It would not do for such a loud disturbance to occur in something as important as this.

The hallway was just as Harry remembered it was, from that fateful Christmas Eve when he had witnessed it all. The pram was still against the wall in the beginning of the hallway, and other than the thick coating of grime and dust that covered it, there was no sign at all to indicate the horror's that had happened here, in this hallway.

Harry saw a door leading off from where he was standing, that was half ajar, leading off to a small but cosy kitchen, despite the fact that hardly any light filtered into the house, due to the now filthy windows. He did not enter, however. Nor did he voyage down the small hall just to the right of the staircase, where he was sure lay a living room and some sort of other room that may have been a dining room, or a study.

However, before Harry journeyed up the stairs, he paused, and looked at the sight of the foot of them in front of him.

His father had been killed here. Murdered. The image was etched forever in Harry's brain, the image of the green light speeding towards his father and he tried in vain to protect his family, without his wand even in sight.

Harry could almost see the body lying there, but he did not pause to brood. If there was even the slightest possibility of his parents being alive, which he was gradually doubting as he went on, due to the lack of noise emanating from the house, he had to get to them, and fast.

The stairs creaked ominously as Harry landed heavily on each one, pulling himself up off of them as quickly as he could to relieve the tension from the old and weary wood.

In fact, as surprising as it may of seemed to him, Harry was able to reach the landing of the rickety old house, and even get a quick glance at the hallway beyond, before he felt a dull and heavy thing hit the side of his head purposely, which was most certainly a fist.

'Oof,' Harry grunted, as he fell to the ground, a headache already searing it's way into his head, 'what the -'

'_Who are you_? _Why are you here_?' A male voice hissed out of the gloom from somewhere behind Harry, and Harry felt the need for a slightly cutting remark, before the impending grogginess and foggy mindset hindered him as he was sure it would as an aftermath of the hit soon. Already his head was beginning to throb uncomfortably.

'Well, it would be a lot easier to participate in an interrogation if I didn't feel as if I'd just been kicked in the head by a Hippogriff.'

There was a pause, and a sigh, and then a rather reluctant hand reached out to Harry to hoist him up.

'Sorry.' The person muttered, sounding somewhat reluctant and begrudging as Harry leant against a wall and closed his eyes tiredly, as if that would block out the now raging headache. He could hardly grasp why he was here now, he felt dazed and dizzy, and his determination and thirst for knowledge about his parents was long gone.

'Instinct.' The stranger continued. 'We're both a bit … touchy at the moment. I'm not going to go easy on you though. In fact -' Harry's wand came whizzing out of his hand, and he did nothing to stop it, '- there. At least you're not going to jinx me when I turn my back. Merlin, Lily's going to -'

'Lily's going to _what_?' An annoyed and suspicious feminine voice floated out from the dark gloom, somewhere down the corridor. There was hardly any light up here at all, the gloom pressing in on Harry so much that he could only see a brief outline of a person about a foot in front of him, at best.

'Er - nothing -' Said Harry's companion hurriedly.

'Who's there? Who's there with you James?' The woman said quickly, carelessly cutting in on the man's speaking, though Harry doubted that he minded much at all.

'Er -' Said the man standing next to Harry, looking towards him.

'Harry.' Harry supplied him with in a hushed tone, and he saw the man start, and then nod.

'This Harry bloke. Look, why don't we come in there with you, I'm not leaving him out of my -'

'_No_!' Shouted the other voice, high pitched and tearful. 'I am _not_ having some stranger come in here, much less one called … one called H - Har -' Her voice cut off, and a small sobbing sound echoed through the dim gloom of the hallway, from the door at the end, Harry thought, his head clearing faster and better with every passing second, though his searing headache still remained stubbornly.

'Lily …' Harry's fellow muttered, staggering down the hall and out of sight.

Harry felt as if he should follow, but his body just was not cooperating with his brain. He felt slow and sluggish, and he couldn't think for the life of him why the names James and Lily made his ears prick so avidly.

James and Lily.

'James and Lily.' Harry tested saying out loud, almost rolling them around in his mind and upon his tongue.

_James and_ -

_Merlin_.

_Now_ Harry knew who James and Lily were, why he was here, why _they_ were here -

He stumbled to his feet, wobbling but still moving down the short and narrow hall towards the door that was doused in light, he noticed now that the door was thrown wide open in his father's haste, - _his father_ - to get to his wife, to comfort her.

As Harry neared the door, he heard the jumbled murmurings of comfort, as well as the haphazard sobs of both of his parents.

'Harry's _gone_, J - James, he's gone and w - why is everything s - so dusty, there's a _hole_ in the _roof_ James, w - why -'

'Sshhhh, Lily, it'll be okay … I'm here … we'll find Harry, I promise … we'll fix everything up … it'll all be okay again …'

James' voice broke, and he stopped talking, just as Harry crossed over the threshold into the room, bathing himself and the scene that he had heard in a crisp light, that blinded Harry temporarily with it's shocking and stark contrast to the darkness before hand.

Harry's mother, Lily, was sitting in the middle of the floor in the room, the dust particles that had been disturbed twirling and pirouetting through the air around her, now only visible because of the light that was shining, like a God-send, through a crater that was carved out of the roof.

Harry's father, James, was sitting beside his wife, arms encircling her, embracing her, in a way so similar to that of Ginny embracing Harry when he had finally broke after the battle that it made Harry start a little.

There was shattered wood, a destroyed cot, bits of wardrobe and shelf strewn everywhere, tiny little bits and pieces of what looked like a child's clothing littering the dusty and sun worn floor, as well as various pieces of bent and distorted plastic that may have been toys or small pieces of furniture.

All of it was coated in a thick layer of dust. And in the middle of it all, crouched Harry's parents; his mother cradling an old and threadbare, but nevertheless cheery and plump little Teddy Bear, sobbing into it's head as Harry's father rubbed her back and rested his own head and cheek upon the top of her shaking and rocking head.

He felt as if he was intruding upon something private, and Harry was considering moving away from the scene, before he realised that it was actually only he, who could make the mess better.

And so Harry stepped into the light flooding the room, allowing it to cast his features, no longer in dreary shadow, but in the bright sunlight bathing the room in which the world's fate was decided.

It took perhaps a minute, but time seemed to stand still as Harry saw, as if in slow motion, his father glance up absentmindedly, only to do a double take as he fully took in his appearance. He rose to his feet, face formed into an expression that Harry could not discern.

Harry's mother remained on the floor, unaware.

'Wait!' Harry shouted, raising his hands up in a manner that he hoped was unthreatening. 'You've got my wand, remember? I can't do anything!' His father looked hesitant, and confused on top of everything else he was clearly feeling. The anger clearly had not set in yet though, and Harry hoped he could explain before it hit. After all, if his father's anger was anything like his own …

His heart swelled momentarily as he remembered that now, he would be able to find out.

'Why are you here?' A small and muted voice, as if somebody had simply turned down the volume on it, floated up to Harry and his father's ears.

Head jerking down, Harry found himself surprised that it was his mother speaking; even though there was no other person in the room that it could possibly come from.

She was looking up at Harry with the eyes that Harry so often saw reflected in the mirror and on his son's face, though hers looked grief stricken and pained, with red surrounding them in a thick line, from the tears that fell from them and also from her trying to stop them from doing so. There was a small amount of hope, however, a spark that had rekindled in her eye.

'I … I don't know how to explain.' Harry said lamely, looking between both his mother and father, his father's wand trained on Harry with a rigid steadiness, which made Harry wonder whether he had ever been through Auror training before they all went into hiding.

'The beginning's usually the best.' James said cuttingly, though some of the venom recoiled back into his mouth as Lily shot him a glare.

Harry, for his part, could muster only enough emotion out of the realms of his shock to shoot a withering glare towards his father, before speaking.

'You … you died. Voldemort killed you.' Harry stopped, looking imploringly at his parents, hoping that they would believe him.

'We know. We gathered that. It's … the last thing we remember.' Lily said, standing up and taking her place beside her husband. 'What we want to know,' she continued in a shaky voice, as if she were about to crumble back to the floor and dissolve into tears once more, 'is why everything's so dusty, and why there's a hole in the roof and why everything is so _old_ -'

'And why _you_ look like our son would.' James finished, but the statement held none of the anger that Harry was expecting from him. Instead, it sounded as if Harry's father was breaking from the inside out.

'The thing is,' Harry said slowly, knowing that this one sentence would answer most every question that his parents would have, and would, hopefully, reveal his identity without adding too much to it, 'you died quite a long time ago. Nineteen eighty one. It's two thousand and nine … you've been dead for _twenty seven years_.'

The expression's upon the faces of Harry's parents were, once again indiscernible. They were flashing inbetween emotions so quickly that Harry could not for the life of him identify them individually.

Minutes passed, the stillness of the room only permeated by a few ominous creaks over head, and Harry's throbbing head, but it was not until Harry's father spoke, one arm wrapped around his stoic wife as the other fell limply to his side, his wand dangling loosely from his hand, that the silence was finally breached.

'Voldemort's dead.' He said, hardly daring to believe it himself, it seemed, as his face was plastered in utter wonder. 'Because … because otherwise you wouldn't be here, because Voldemort was going to kill you, or you would kill him, but you're here … you're alive … you're Harry! You're Harry, you're my son!'

As Harry's father stood stock still, in both amazement and disbelief as he stared avidly at his newfound son, Harry began to do the same, tears welling uninvited in his eyes as he took in the two people that he had ached for, for so many years, and he thanked whoever it was that had made his parents connect the dots of the puzzle so quickly.

They were here, and they believed him, and they were _here_, and _alive_, and he could touch them, talk to them, and his children would know them, and Sirius and Remus and Tonks and Fred and Dumbledore and Colin were _back _and they would all be together, as it should be, as it always should have been …

His tears fell into dark red hair as his mother crushed him into an embrace that nearly choked the air out of him, but he could not find it within himself to care, for it was his mother that was doing so. His father smiled, his eyes surprisingly glossy looking as he caught eyes with Harry over his mother's shaking shoulder, which had buried itself into Harry's shoulder, so much taller he was than her.

Pressing his face into his mother's hair and inhaling the scent of her as his father looked on proudly, Harry closed his eyes contentedly, headache a distant memory, and wondered what on earth could possibly go wrong.

It was a stupid thought, given his history of luck.

When Harry opened his eyes, he looked up to the heavens, his eyes still leaking despite his happiness, but they were happy tears. He did not see a need to halt them. Harry didn't even know if he could.

His eyes strayed to an overhanging bit of ceiling, the heavy beams frayed and the plaster dripping off of it on occasion. It was a wonder, really, that it was still standing after all these years, having undoubtedly endured many days of the _terrific _English weather …

Harry's eyes widened as he saw, as if in slow motion, a particularly large crack that ran through most of the remaining ceiling that Harry and his mother were standing under, splinter and then split off from the rest completely.

The echoing crack that it made made Harry's parents look up jarringly, and stare in shock as the heavy tile, plaster, wood and brick began it's dismount towards Harry and his mother, both still frozen in their embrace as it fell.

_Keep them safe_, Harry's first thought was, as he watched the house collapse on top of them.

_Keep them safe_.

He pushed his mother roughly out of his arms, and straight into his father's she fell, landing heavily into him as she looked back, terrified, as did her husband.

Harry only managed to get a minute glimpse of his mother and father's horrified faces as the ceiling fell on top of him, and even less time to hear his mother's anguished scream;

'HARRY!'

And the world went black.

* * *

**- It's finally, finally here! It took me forever to write this, and even now I'm not entirely sure it flows well. Please let me know your thoughts, they are very much appreciated. Also, is it possible to edit published chapters?  
Thanks for reading and all of the reviews for the past chapters:)**

**- Spellmugwump97**


	10. A Mad Rescue

**CHAPTER 10**

_A Mad Rescue_

* * *

It was the pain that hit him first.

Second, the crushing weight and his inability to move underneath it.

Third, the voices that floated down to him, through the layers of who knew what.

'Harry? Harry can you hear us?'

'Move that beam, man! We'll never get him out otherwise -'

'I'm trying to Mad-Eye!'

'Harry?'

'James! Don't move that! It'll crush us all!'

'Lily, I'm a bit preoccupied with holding up this godforsaken piece of centuries old sh-'

'_James_!'

'Shoddy! I was going to say shoddy!'

'Can you hear us, lad?'

Silence, and then a few moments later, a muffled sob.

Harry wanted to reply, he really did, but he just simply could not find the energy within him to try. He did not know whether he would even be able to, anyway, if he could try and react to the voices. The debris crushed every other part of him, why should his jaw so different?

There were a few ominous creaks that echoed down to him, through what seemed like layer upon layer of debris, alongside some whispered words that sounded urgent and panicked.

Harry didn't know why they were panicking. They weren't in trouble, were they?

There was several minutes of what sounded like heavy objects shifting and a muffled argument, before a small window of light finally emerged into Harry's line of sight. Of course, he could hardly see too much anyway, given the fact that his glasses had somehow vanished off of the face of the earth in the scrimmage that he was trapped under.

'I can see him!'

'Harry! Harry can you -'

'It'll be no use talking to him, he's probably still out of it.'

'Moody!'

'Mad-Eye, that's not very helpful at the moment.'

'You can't expect him to spring out of there like a newborn - _what's that ruddy bird doing here_?'

'I don't - _Mad-Eye_!'

A crash and a bang, with a thin stream of light streaking through the small window of air that Harry could see amidst the shrieks and squawks.

'You can't just curse it!' A feminine voice shouted.

'I'll curse anything that comes swooping out of nowhere at me like that!'

'It's not the poor owl's fault that you're a paranoid old git!'

'Will you two just _calm_ - ARGH!'

'Told you.'

'Told us _what_?'

'That the bird is trouble.'

'No you _didn't_!'

'CAN SOMEBODY GET THIS BLOODY BIRD OFF OF ME!'

Harry groaned as the shouting made his head pound painfully, and his very ears seemed to throb uncomfortably.

His mind was dazed and foggy, and nothing made sense to him other than the pain that he felt burning it's way down his back, and the ever present weight of the roof and who knew what else crushing him into the ground. All he could say, if he could even talk, was that he sincerely hoped that the floor would hold.

He was unsure and unaware of just how long it took for Moody and his parents to produce an opening in the crushing darkness big enough hoist Harry through, but Harry certainly was aware when the blinding light of the red sky that indicated the impending evening, tattooing itself onto his eyelids despite the fact that they were still closed.

'Uh …' He groaned, attempting to move his head to the side to get away from the light that intruded on the previous serenity of the darkness.

'Harry?' A voice said, far too loud, into his ear. Harry groaned again, and swatted at the place where he thought the sound had originated.

Chuckles sounded, and then there was a grumble and a whiskery voice uttering '_Ennervate_.'

Suddenly, the world became sharper and more pronounced, like if Harry had been eating rice for all of his life and somebody had introduced a chilli sauce to it. The only downside to the sensation was that the pain increased tenfold.

'Is that even possible?' Came Lily's voice her interest clearly peaked as she watched how Moody's spell affected her son.

'Evidently.' Mad-Eye replied gruffly, and Harry heard him shuffle aside a bit of old beam.

There was a long moment of silence, before Harry thought it prudent to announce his current predicament.

'You know, being crushed underneath a roof sort of hurts.' His voice was croaky and dry, and the movement caused his mouth to feel like sandpaper.

He cracked his eyes open just a little, but found that the light had remained far too bright for him, and so shut his eyes quickly and swiftly, the colourful patterns dancing around in his vision as even more jolts of pain rocketed up and down his body, in places that he could not identify in his current state.

'Harry!' Came the feminine and shocked voice of his mother, just before a small hand clutched urgently at his right arm, making him groan at the sparks of pain that flared. 'Oh God, I'm so sorry -'

'There's no time, Lily. We've got to get him somewhere, he's been battered up like a fish!' James interrupted, his voice sounding pleading and worried.

'Hogwarts.' Harry rasped, hoping they heard him.

'Can you cast a patronus, son?' Moody said from somewhere above him, and at Harry's positive nod, there was a swishing noise that signalled the drawing of wand.

'Accio Potter's wand.'

'OI!'

'_Moody_!'

'Give us our wands back!'

There was a brief squawk and a scuffling sound, and a few grumbles from Harry's parents and Moody, before the cool and thankfully relatively unharmed stick of wood was pressed into Harry's hand.

Opening his eyes and blinking back as best as he could the bright redness that reverberated through his eyeballs, Harry raised the wand, and thought of the moment that Ginny told him that she was pregnant with James.

'_Expecto Patronum_.' Harry said quietly, concentrating on that beautiful moment when his lifelong dream of having his own family became possible, and to his great relief and audible awe of his parents, Prongs blossomed out of the tip of the Holly wood, bouncing gracefully and glowing as it turned to face it's creator at the sign of no threat.

'_Converseris patronis_.' Harry muttered, and then at the cock of it's head, he said to the silvery being; 'Tell Kingsley Shaklebolt to meet me and three others at the gates of Hogwarts.' At the smallest of nods, the stag turned and ran towards the crumbling wall, disappearing before it hit it faster than a waft of smoke.

There was silence, and Harry could not help from thinking that it was the calm before the storm. Who knew what was going to happen once they arrived at Hogwarts? He was dreading, but looking forward to reuniting his parents and Remus and Sirius. The true Marauders, he often liked to think.

'_Prongs_.' Came a revered whisper from Harry's left, and there perched his father on the old and decrepit wardrobe, staring at the place where the patronus had disappeared with watery eyes. His gaze flickered to Harry, and Harry nodded slightly and allowed a small smile to play across his lips at the thought of his guidance from the stag throughout the years.

There was a whimper coming from the right of him, that was made by his mother, who was trying and failing dismally to withhold the sounds of her crying at the emotion of the moment, and Harry looked between his parents with amazed eyes, before Moody entered the room once more, - not that Harry realised that he had walked out, - and groaned.

'Is the emotional reunion over, or should I go and check downstairs too?' He said gruffly, his one normal eye focused disparagingly on Harry and his parents.

Harry's parents protested half heartedly at Moody's wry comment, but began to stand up anyway, straightening themselves up and stretching.

'Oh, let me help you with that,' Harry's mother said to a frustrated looking Moody, who was trying to move bits and pieces of dusty wood out of the way so that they could, relatively safely, manoeuvre their way back downstairs and out of the stuffy confines of the ruined house.

Harry fell back down to the ground, lying down to ease his back, that was beginning to get worse and worse as the pain increased with his alertness.

As an Auror, you had to be able to assess the damage to your body in order to not overstrain different parts of your body on a mission or in the middle of a raid that was kicking off.

By the way that breathing hurt and it was difficult to take any breaths properly or normally, it was easy for Harry to deduce that he had at least a cracked rib. The jolting pains that made their way up and down his back were almost definitely a sign of a fractured spine, and the way his shoulder refused to move normally was almost indefinitely an indicator of it being dislocated, perhaps even broken slightly.

'You need a stretcher.' James said, looking down at Harry. 'You can't walk in that condition.'

Harry frowned. 'I don't look that bad, do I?'

Raising an eyebrow, his father looked at him, his expression half amused and half speculatively. 'Just wait until you see yourself in a mirror.'

They lapsed into a contemplative silence, each enveloped in their own thoughts, and Harry was suddenly struck by a thought that made him both confused and surprised, and made him think about just how long he had been under.

'Mad-Eye's here! What - How did you get Moody to believe that you were back, too? It's not as if he's the most trusting bloke.'

James' mouth curved upwards into an amused grin, before speaking. 'Common situation?'

And they both laughed, chuckling quietly at first, before it evolved into maniacal laughter, the sort that left you in pain, especially if you had a cracked rib, but you could not stop nevertheless. Harry was laughing at the sheer madness of the situation - yesterday, he never would have dreamed that this could be possible, and yet, it was.

Harry had finally steadied his breath, and began to speak.

'I can't believe you're ba - HEDWIG!'

A fluffy, feathery white owl sped at a dangerously quick speed towards Harry's head, and just a moment before the impact, Harry realised that it was, indeed, Hedwig, back with the rest of who knew how many other people.

She swerved at the last minute, landing just above his head, and before Harry knew it, she was pecking in a way that she clearly thought was affectionately at his face, as if she could not believe it any more than he that they were together again after so long.

After a while, Harry felt that maybe Hedwig was a little too enthusiastic in her greetings - he felt as if his face was going to flake off at any given second.

'Hed - Hedwig - get off, seriously - Hedwig -'

His father, from what Harry could see, was laughing hard and clutching his stomach as he watched his son's fruitless attempts to get the owl off of his face. Scowling, Harry finally managed to detangle Hedwig's claws from his hair, making it even more like a birds nest than it was before, given it's usual state and him being crushed under layers of debris.

'She's yours, then?' James said, voice breathless from his laughter and face flushed from attempting to withhold it.

A flapping of wings and an indignant squawk sounded from Hedwig, and it was clear that she was proclaiming that _of course _she was Harry's owl, and how on earth could the silly human being _ever_ think _any_ differently?

With the humour set aside for the moment, the pain returned, and at full force, and it set Harry groaning once more.

'You really need a stretcher.' James said anxiously, and Harry saw that his eyes were roving over his body in a panicked fashion, looking for any outward injuries. 'You're not really bleeding, that's good, just a couple of scrapes - dear Merlin!' He swore, looking at the side of Harry's head, a place which Harry had thought was relatively undamaged. 'You kept that quiet - it must've been covered by your hair!'

James reached out to touch the wound, and so he did, and suddenly a blinding pain branched out from the very spot in which he had touched.

'OUCH!' Harry shouted, sending Moody and his mother crashing into the room a few moments after his exclamation, and making Hedwig make a strange noise in surprise and fly up to sit on a bit of wood that remained of the roof.

'What is it? What's happened?' Came the scared shout of Harry's mother as she entered the room and dropped to Harry's side.

'Nothing,' Harry said in what he hoped was a comforting voice, patting her arm, 'just got a little scrape.'

An indignant noise sounded from James as he stood and pointed at his son. 'He's got a hole gouged out of his head!'

'Well, I think that's a bit extreme -'

'Oh my God!' Shrieked his mother, clasping her hands to her mouth when she saw the state of the side of Harry's head. 'We need to get you to Saint Mungo's!'

'With three people who are widely considered dead? Not bloody likely.' Mad-Eye said gruffly, before Harry could even get a word in. 'Nah, we're better off going to Hogwarts.'

'Of course we are!' Harry exclaimed, frustrated. 'I've already sent the message to Kingsley, haven't I?'

There was quiet, and then mumbled and muted agreements.

'Okay then,' Mad-Eye said, fake eye whirring about in it's socket, at just the same speed that Harry was wondering how he even had the eye in the first place, 'well, I'll be apparating everyone - you two've lost the knack and you, my lad, are in no fit state to apparate yourself, let alone any other poor soul.'

'As opposed to you, who's been dead up until -'

'I managed to get from London to here, didn't I?' Moody shot back, both eyes glaring at Harry.

Harry paused, and then nodded stiffly, though he would rather face Lord Voldemort again than admit that he certainly _wasn't_ capable of apparation at the moment. Ever since his father had prodded his head wound, he had been feeling quite dizzy, as if James had just awakened the pain and grogginess that came with it.

Moody unceremoniously grabbed a hold of, thankfully, Harry's good shoulder, and heaved him up to his feet.

'Numbing charm.' He said, just before Harry felt a tingling feeling wash over him like some kind of weightless liquid was being poured over him.

Still holding his wand in his hand, with Harry limply dangling off of him due to the dehabilitating numbing charm, - which was rather good thinking, Harry would say later, as he wasn't sure he would have been able to cope with the pain that came with apparating with a severely injured body, - Moody twisted slightly on his one good foot, apparating himself and Harry into the swirling mass of blackness.

* * *

**- I'm so sorry. I won't bore you with excuses, other than the fact that I'm in my final year at Secondary School, and everything's turned out to be much more hectic than I first anticipated. Some good news, though; I got my results back for my first bout of actual exams! An A and B in History, and two A*'s in English! Very happy with that; I got the top mark in the year for English! What is going on in the world?**

**Did anybody see the new James Bond film, 'Skyfall'? I did. It was brilliant, and my first Bond film! (Which, as an English person, is almost considered blasphemy if you've never seen one!) I also bought 'The Casual Vacancy'; my childhood may be shattering before my very eyes, but it's a very good book nevertheless.**

**I'm starting on a clean sheet with answering reviews, too. I'm going to answer them as soon as I can when I get thwm, instead of leaving them until the next update. Thank you for all of you wonderful people who have reviewed- and got me to a fantastic 100 reviews and more! You're brilliant!**

**I also now beta the fantastic stories of 'Muffliato', who has created some truly brilliant stories- you should go and have a look, they're amazing. I hardly need to do a thing for beta'ing them!**

**Thank you for any reviews, and also if you're still, amazingly, reading after this extortionately long wait. I'm not sure about this chapter's flow, or content, but I couldn't leave you hanging, if I had a completed chapter ready!**

**-Spellmugwump97**


	11. Interlude

**INTERLUDE**

_And Once Again_

* * *

Amos Diggory was completely unaware, as was most of the Wizarding World, of the wonders that were occurring all over the country. Amos Diggory went about his usual business; the very same business that he had done for the last fourteen years.

He and Celia, his wife, had followed the same routine for those fourteen years; only faltering in it when the war intruded on their lives directly. Other than that, they saw no reason to stop. It was the peace of knowing what was to be done, and how they had to do it, that halted a ruined marriage and a dismal life in its rapidly approaching steps.

_Cedric_.

He was such a bright and handsome young man. He had so much to offer to the world, so much to do and to see, so much potential.

But he could do none of that, for he was dead, and had been for fourteen years.

At first, Amos was indescribably jealous of Harry Potter; him, who had escaped with his life, when Amos' brilliant son had not.

And then reality had hit.

From afar, Amos watched Harry Potter throughout his life after the fateful Third Task of that blasted Tournament that had ended his own son's life. He saw the trials and tribulations and accusations and ridicule the poor boy faced, and it humbled him. Amos watched over Harry Potter with a reverence akin to watching his own son, and so did Celia too, as they saw him emerge the victor against Lord Voldemort, and then saw him as an emotional wreck at all of the funerals that followed.

Amos thought that his son was forgotten in the floods of deaths in battle. He was, of course, wrong, and had underestimated Harry Potter once again.

It was at the Memorial Service, that he first spoke to Harry Potter after his boy's death.

He looked bedraggled and tired, bags under his eyes and hair scruffier than ever. He was pale and thin, eyes dulled and posture slack. Taller than Amos remembered, he found the boy leaning against an unoccupied wall in the rapidly emptying Ministry, eyes closed and head bowed- in grief or exhaustion or both, Amos did not know.

They had talked, and Harry had informed him that what Amos had thought was most definitely not the case; Cedric had his own place on the Memorial statue that stood in the place of where the block of solid black stone used to be, symbolising the oppression of Muggles.

_That_ was one of the first things to go when the war ended.

Now, making himself a hot mug of tea, Amos felt rather terrible that he had ever thought so low of Harry Potter in the first place.

He was just about to migrate into his Living Room, where Celia was waiting, when somebody was, quite rudely, knocking loudly and continuously on the door, as if they lived there.

Muttering angrily, Amos opened the door, at the same time as taking a sip from his mug.

And promptly dropped it, sending it crashing noisily to the ground of his front step.

'Cedric?' He said, in an awed and amazed voice.

* * *

The Ministry was deathly quiet, as was usual at the given time.

Eric sat, bored, at his little desk, cursing the fact that he was still working the same job that he had since he had left Hogwarts.

_Honestly_. Was there _really_ any need to check _everyone's_ wands? The world was pretty much safe and secure now, anyway.

_Why_ he had volunteered to do the twice weekly night shift was beyond him; he had obviously forgotten about how very boring it was, with no people bustling about the place, and exciting Auror business going on when they brought in uncooperative suspects.

_Those_ were always entertaining.

Maybe he had felt sorry for the young lad just out of Hogwarts, who clearly did not want to be spending nights that he could be using to celebrate his departure from school sitting in the empty Ministry of Magic, where the most exciting thing to look at was the war memorial that stood in all of it's morbid glory in the very middle of the polished, now peacock blue Ministry foyer.

Either way, the boy had clearly caught Eric in a happy, generous mood, - which wasn't often, - and Eric had thus been doing the cursed shift ever since.

And he was supposed to be _retired_.

Eyes almost closing from tiredness, blinking back up and down and making the place descend into a hazy swirl of colour.

Just before Eric fell asleep, he could have sworn that he saw Rufus Scrimgeour crossing the empty room, but he was snoring long before he could really care to find out.

* * *

Too many a time for the young David Watts, he was disturbed from his sleep by the howling wind outside of the thin and battered school tent. He had known that he would regret it later when he had signed up for the Duke of Edinburgh Award, and he was not disappointed by the snarling voice in the back of his head that told him that he was most likely going to die or starve to death on this trip.

He wished he went to that school up in Scotland where his younger cousin was going. It sounded nice there. Less strict, and more freedom, considering it was a boarding school.

His teacher had laughed and told him otherwise, but David knew the truth of the conspiracy.

Looking around in the cramped tent at the two other occupants - both classmates of David and both of whom he found intensely annoying, - David saw that they were both fast asleep and snoring. Shivering slightly at the biting coldness, David decided to voyage outside of the tent and see whether he could tell the time from the sky - all of his technology had been confiscated by a teacher beforehand, in order to get "in touch with nature"; even simple wristwatches had been banned.

Grumbling, David unzipped the long zip that shielded him from the blustering hills, muttering angrily to himself when it stopped multiple times because the chain was broken. Eventually, the cold air hit him so hard in the face that David even with being crouched down he recoiled a bit.

Stepping outside, David stretched out and looked towards the glimmering lights from the far off pub. He longed to go there and buy at least packet of crisps, but without knowing the time, he couldn't risk it.

About to return to the tent and to his classmates' unyielding snores, David sighed and turned, before stopping abruptly.

There - in the corner of his eye, was a hunched and stumbling figure that was making its way towards the little collection of tents in which twenty-five of David's fellow classmates were sleeping. Glancing around and gulping, it suddenly struck David that he was the only one, out of all of them, that was awake.

Seeing that the figure was probably no threat, David decided that it was time for him to make a move and confront the rapidly approaching stranger. At least he would die a hero - and even if this person abducted him, the conditions were almost guaranteed to be better than what he was currently camping in.

'Hello?' He shouted towards the person, and they stopped abruptly. David edged a few steps closer.

'Hello?' He repeated.

Standing stock still as the figure came close, David felt that he should have at least brought something heavy to defend himself with. Perhaps his rucksack would have done, he'd carried it all day so he knew well enough.

Brought out of his musings, David glanced up and was considerably startled to see that the figure was no more than five feet away from him. He took a step back in alarm.

Before he could speak, the unknown person did.

'Hello?' It was female, then. David groaned. He couldn't handle girls very well at all. 'Are you a Muggle?'

'A what?' David replied.

'Yes then.'

David, confused, spoke again.

'Are you all right?'

'I think so. I wasn't before but I am now. I think.'

David paused. 'Right …'

He was unaware of what to do - what he should ask. And so it was that he asked the very first question that came into his head, which, unfortunately, wasn't very helpful.

'Er … what's your name?'

The figure paused, shrugged, and then answered in a strangely breathy voice, as if she had just been through a great ordeal.

'Bertha. Bertha Jorkins.'

* * *

Detective Terry Doodson was having a rather nice day. He had finally finished off a murder case and apprehended the killer, and from it he had received a rather large sum of money in overtime.

Smiling and meandering his way down the High Street in Finchley, he stopped and found a nice little café to settle his feet and take the weight off of his, - he always felt secretly pleased, despite what he told other people, - still rather spry legs.

Sitting sipping a cup of warm tea, he basked in the sunshine, and despite the fact that he was sitting next to a quite unsavoury little alleyway, he enjoyed his time and tea and paper, for at least ten minutes, before he was disturbed.

'Gid?'

'Fabe?'

'I thought you were -'

'Me too!'

'Did they not get you, or -?'

'I remember it happening, but I'm here -'

'Same … some kind of spell?'

'Could be a curse …'

'Or a jinx …'

'Combined?'

'Nah …'

'This place looks different, could it be -'

'A Distortion charm?'

'Or we're somewhere else …'

Terry, having heard enough, rose from his seat. He was certain that something odd was going on - these two people, who sounded eerily alike, discussing jinx's and curses and all manner of such things that simply didn't exist. They sounded like the sort of things that his Grandfather used to tell him. He always looked quite wistful when he talked of those things … Terry put it down to childhood memories.

Putting down the cheap mug of tea unwillingly, Terry rose from his seat, and edged around the corner.

Two men with vivid red hair were standing, evidently at a loss, half way down the shallow alley. They looked confused, and lost, and most of all, considerably scared; Terry decided that, in his mood and feeling of goodwill, he would at least _try_ to help them. Tea could wait.

'Are you all right?'

Both men turned towards him, and Terry stumbled back in the shock of seeing that they both had identical faces, and were clearly twins. He recovered quickly.

'Er …' the man on the left said. 'I think so …'

'You seen a couple of sticks of wood anywhere near here, by any chance?' The other man said, cocking his head and scratching his ear, as his twin looked around at the floor in a sudden panic.

'No …' Terry said, 'I can help you have a look though, if you'd like.'

The strangely dressed men looked at each other, but Terry could not see their faces unless they were looking directly at him. They both shrugged at exactly the same time, and looked back at Terry.

'Go on then,' The one on the left said.

Terry stepped forward, and much more deeply into the alley, tea long forgotten. It never even crossed the Detective's mind that two simple sticks would be so important to the man.

'So what do these stick things look like?'

'Sort of polished … they might be a bit dirty though. They've probably been lying around for a while …'

* * *

**- I know not much goes on in this chapter, but I feel it was needed. This happens exactly at the same time as the prologue; it'll all become much more clear in the next chapter or so, when all the previously dead people are all together and things can begin to get sorted. And, of course, another surprise returnee or two, or the more _unsavoury_ type.  
As always, thank you so much for all your support and reading my little ramblings, and I hope you enjoyed this little interlude!**

**- Spellmugwump97:)**


	12. Death And Scars

**CHAPTER 11**

_Death And Scars_

* * *

Dusk had descended upon the rolling grounds and towering turrets of Hogwarts castle, and as Harry lent against Moody with a worrying amount of dependency the cold air hit his face repeatedly, as if it was trying to slap some sense into him through the numbing charm.

'It's cold,' Harry shivered, trying to balance himself independently, but failing miserably.

Moody snorted, but did not reply.

The air battering their bodies even more for perhaps ten seconds, before the light of a bobbing wand was suddenly visible just beyond the gates of the great castle, and before Harry could even think of whom the holder of the wand might be, Moody shouted it out - perhaps his fake eye came with night vision, Harry mused. He certainly wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye.

'Shacklebolt!' Moody barked, glaring at the figure. 'What did I say to you, the first time we spoke?'

There was a brief noise of which Harry supposed was a noise of disgruntled amazement, before Kingsley spoke.

'I - er - you said "One day, that bloody earring of yours'll get yourself killed," or - um -' Came the startled reply of the Minister, face now visible and looking considerably flabbergasted.

'Right,' Mad-Eye said gruffly, shuffling a dazed Harry over to the gate, 'I've got to go and pick up the others - make sure this one doesn't injure himself anymore, for Merlin's sake.'

Moody maneuvered Harry so that he was leaning against the cold iron of the Hogwarts gates, the winged boar leering down upon the strange gathering that was soon to be reduced by one.

With a wink of his remaining human eye, Mad-Eye twisted and disappeared with the customary crack of apparation. There was a long moment of pause.

'Moody's back.' Kingsley said gormlessly from behind Harry.

'Yeah,' Harry replied, too exhausted and weak to inject any sarcasm into his voice.

'But … you were at Godric's Hollow … how could Moody have been - Christ!'

The light being emitted from Kingsley's wand flooded the weak form of Harry as he squinted against the light. 'What the hell happened to your head? You're covered in blood!'

'Roof fell on me.'

'A _roof_ did?'

'Yeah. Went all numb.'

'Right.' Kingsley looked at him worriedly. 'We'd better get you up to the castle.'

'Yeah …' Harry said dreamily in reply, closing his eyes against the harsh wand light. 'You know, I think I'll go to sleep -'

'_No_!' A harsh hand grabbed Harry's upper arm, and his eyes flashed open before he blinked, groaning, and closed them against the light of Kingsley's wand. 'You can't go to sleep Harry, you'll get concussion.'

'M'tired,' Harry said, scrunching his eyes.

There was a long-suffering sigh that was emitted from Kingsley, and suddenly what felt like a cool breeze blew around Harry, lifting the hair that wasn't glued to his head by blood up as well as the arms of his cloak.

Suddenly, a feeling on clarity reached Harry, and he felt as if he could think properly - as if his mind was no longer foggy and his thoughts were no longer moving through toffee.

'What was that?' He asked Kingsley after catching his breath, looking at the man curiously. Whatever it was, Harry thought grimly, it wasn't likely to last for very long, in any case.

'Clarity charm.' The tall man said. 'It'll be worse later on when the effects wear off, but I think you'll need it for now.'

Harry nodded in reply, trying not to think about when the charm _would_ wear off. He was thankful for the charm; he felt as if he was emerging from a dense fog. He needed to focus on the present - and the present was that he was waiting for Alastor Moody to return from Godric's Hollow with his parents. All three of them very much breathing and very much alive.

How he was going to break this to the Wizarding World he had no idea - and he certainly did not want to think about right at that moment, with a throbbing head and aching limbs.

'We need to get up there.' Kingsley said after a long pause, looking at Harry warily. 'I just took off, they're probably worried.'

Harry looked at the man of whom he now considered an old friend; an old friend that seemed to truly understand some of the horrors of Harry's past - only some, however, because there was really no way in hell that Harry was going to share _all_ of what had happened to him with anyone other than Ginny.

'Moody should be here soon - with my, erm … you know.' Harry nearly winced at how pathetic he sounded. Kingsley just chuckled.

'Hard to take in?' He said, his chuckle morphing into a low, baritone chortle as he looked at Harry with tears of something that Harry wasn't sure of in his eyes.

'This whole thing is insane.' Kingsley continued. 'People are coming back from the dead … there's dead people wandering about! They're actually back … and I'll be damned if there's nothing in it to do with you either, Potter. I'd bet any money.'

Harry grumbled an obscenity that was meant in good will, and Kingsley had to lean against the looming gates that guarded Hogwarts, because of his vigorous humour.

It was at that moment, when a loud cracking sound echoed down the lane and around Harry and Kingsley - and it only made the man laugh even harder.

'Sorry we're so late.' Mad-Eye said gruffly. 'There was an incident with a collapsed beam.' He turned and glared at a sheepish looking Lily. James looked smug, as if he was pleased that it was his wife, and not him, who had slipped up for once.

'Mad-Eye,' Kingsley said, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes as he looked properly at his old friend for the first time in years. 'It's good to see you.'

Moody looked Kingsley up and down for a moment, before gruffly lowering his head into a nod. 'You too,' He said simply. 'You look older. What is it you're doing nowadays?'

Kingsley grinned. 'Retired Auror as of ninety-eight, and got elected as the not-so-temporary Minister.'

'Minister for Magic?' Harry's dad said, his gaze slipping over to him. 'You're friends with the Minister for Magic?'

'Yeah.' Harry said, shifting slightly from one foot to the other. 'The novelty wears off a bit when he invites himself around to dinner -'

'That was one time!' Kingsley protested, thrusting his hands out in mild annoyance.

Harry turned to look at Kingsley, incredulous. 'It was half eleven at night!'

'That's early -'

'Not when you've been up since four in the morning with a teething toddler it isn't!'

There was a pause in their bickering in which Harry looked into Kingsley's eyes and felt that through the playful annoyance there was an underlying message that perhaps they really should stop now - considering there were three long dead but breathing people standing beside them awkwardly as they argued.

There was a lull in all speech and Harry shifted on his feet as he scoured his brain thinking of something suitable to say in such a bizarre situation as this - small talk about the weather didn't seem to cut it, somehow.

'We should get up to the castle.' Mad-Eye said finally, his blue eye whizzing around angrily that made Harry wonder just how it was even there in the first place - though he wouldn't put it at all past Moody to place all sorts of protective spells all over it.

'Yes,' Kingsley said gruffly, coughing awkwardly as he turned and gestured to the gates which opened at his wave. 'There's others waiting … but we'll explain that on the way up there.'

Harry could feel the gaze of his parents as he walked up to the school, and they felt as if they were pressing him into the very ground that he was treading on. Kingsley and Moody were just slightly ahead of Harry and his parents, talking as amicably as able with Mad-Eye in the picture about the current state of the Ministry. Mad-Eye certainly sounded impressed, and kept on glancing at Harry with both a curious and appraising normal eye as Kingsley spoke.

'Who … who died?' The soft voice of Harry's father said gently from behind him as Harry slowed, thinking of an answer to his question without giving a rambling history of his entire life to his parents.

'It's hard to explain,' Harry said slowly, turning around to look at his parents. 'Everything links back to everything else … and I'm not sure I can really condense it all. Or tell it all over again.'

'You don't have to tell us the back story,' Harry's mother said somewhat eagerly, 'we just want to know who died since - well, since we did.'

It seemed as though Harry wasn't going to get out of it that quickly. He heaved a deep sigh, rubbing his temples trying to relieve the stress of the situation.

'Sirius died when I was in my fifth year.' Harry began, staring at the grass as he spoke, not even trying to soften a blow to his parents that there was no way he could cushion. Death was death, Harry had concluded long ago, and there was no point or real way of making it seem any less painful or sudden than it was.

The pain and memories of Sirius' death rolled over and through Harry's body, despite knowing that he was back alive and well - however temporary it might be.

'Remus died when I was seventeen … and Moody just before my seventeenth birthday. Tonks - Sirius' cousin - died at the same time as Remus, and so did Fred - Fred Weasley that is. And -' Harry laughed, bemused that he had not mentioned the next person's death before, 'well, Dumbledore died at the end of my Sixth Year.'

Absolute silence followed Harry's words, and he hazarded a glance upwards when he heard a shocked gasp from his mother.

They were clutching each other like a lifeline, faces drawn in horror as they stared at Harry. His mother's face was pale as the moon that was now fully above them, standing out vividly against her dark red hair that framed her face, now dirty and messy from the remains of their former home. It was Harry's father's eyes that he found were the worst, however - when Harry looked into them he saw an intense look or despair and loss, and it struck Harry that this was how he would look if Ron or Hermione died. Harry could not imagine the pain that he would go through if either of them died.

It would be torture.

And then it suddenly struck Harry - _they didn't know_.

He let out a deep throaty laugh, head pounding at the noise, and he paid no mind to the confused faces his parents were giving him.

'They came back,' Harry said, looking at their faces as their expressions morphed into shock. 'They came back like you did - they're back from the dead.' Harry laughed uproariously as the thought hit him. His parents even managed slight chuckles.

When his laughter finally came to an end and he realised suddenly why Kingsley had been laughing like this before. It was either laugh or curl up into a ball and rock yourself slowly into insanity.

'Sirius is alive?' Harry's father said hopefully, looking at Harry with an expression that portrayed his relief when Harry nodded a positive conformation.

A moment of contented silence fell over the trio, in which Harry brushed some of his bloody hair off of his forehead to prevent it sticking to his skin any more than necessary.

'What's that?' Came the sharp voice of Harry's mother. Harry looked up at her owlishly.

'What?' He said rather gormlessly, and proceeded to remain limp and clueless when she pulled him forward and roughly pulled up his hair off of his forehead just as Harry had done a few seconds previously.

'That scar on your head. Where did you get it from?'

'I -'

At the ferocious look on his mother's face, despite her being considerably shorter than him, Harry conceded. It was hard to deny something he could so easily give to his parents, given the fact that they were breathing and alive and present - even just a mere glance at one of them made a glimmer of warmth flutter in his stomach.

'The night you were killed,' he began softly, watching their faces wearily, 'Voldemort was after me because … well you know why. Because you died protecting me, mum,' Harry's words were getting harder and harder to say, and his breathing was becoming more and more laboured as he went on, 'you … activated, a protection against the killing curse that Voldemort shot at me after you died. The strongest magic of all is love, Dumbledore said. And he was right, too - the curse bounced right off of me.'

Harry's eyes remained on the ground as his mother lowered her hand from his head.

'You say his name.' Came the soft voice of Harry's father, the statement said matter-of-factly, but with no less emotion. Harry looked up into his eyes and offered a small nod to his father. He received a rather watery smile in return.

Small arms wrapped around Harry as he kept eye contact for a split second more before looking downwards at his mother.

Harry hugged her back.

'We're so proud.' Harry's father said to Harry, not needing to ask his wife if she shared his opinion. A small smile played on his lips.

Harry's heart swelled, and when Kingsley's Lynx patronus appeared beside him telling him not-so-politely to get a move on because everyone in the Head's Study _knew_ and Moody was _there_ and grumbling _already_ at everyone about _constant vigilance_, Harry's bright mood did not dissipate, regardless of the growing ache of his head wound.

* * *

**- I know that this is a very short chapter for what should be a ridiculously long one for the amount of time that I've left you hanging, and for that I am so sorry. Time has flown by, and I have been studying for my GCSE's which are the exams that you work towards for over two years, as well as getting pneumonia and having the hospital misdiagnose it during the time in which I had most of my exams. I'm all right now; on my third course of antibiotics, and I hope that you accept my grovelling apology! I promise that I will never abandon this story until the end. However long it takes.**

**Also - a shout out to the soldier, Lee Rigby, that was attacked recently, as well as the deepest sympathies to his family and the outstanding bravery of the women that confronted the two terrorists in Woolwich.**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter;**

**- Spell:)**


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